The Hiatus
by bugsfic
Summary: Major Crimes Fic, spoilers through season 1: It's time for Sharon to deal with her past, even as her everyday responsibilities call for her attention.
1. Chapter 1

_Pairing: Sharon/Other; Sharon/Flynn UST; Sharon, Rusty_

Chapter One:

Rusty wasn't sure what woke him, but when he lifted his head, he definitely heard quiet movement in the living room. The condo's front door snicked closed.

Creeping to his bedroom door, he peeked out. A hulking figure was bent in the dim hall. Rusty had made this silent journey many times to sneak a snack without Sharon hearing him. He was behind the intruder before he could be noticed.

Rusty grabbed the man's right wrist, meaning to wrestle his arm behind his back. But the powerful forearm twisted, flipping the boy off his feet. A large hand grabbed his throat and thrust him against the wall. Mute, Rusty gasped for air and scrambled with his feet for purchase.

A handgun's hammer cocked. Sharon's cold voice ordered: "Drop him."

When he was released, Rusty slumped against the wall but quickly fumbled for the light switch. The hall lit up.

The man straightened and faced Sharon. "You need to go back to the firing range, honey. Your grip's off."

Sharon put the safety back on her weapon. "Nick, what the hell are you doing here?"

Still catching his breath, Rusty got a good look at the stranger. He wasn't tall, but his broad shoulders and barrel chest made him an imposing figure. He appeared to be in his sixties, with thick, short, salt and pepper hair sleek against his heavy skull. A wide mustache covered his upper lip, masking rough-hewn, aged features. The man straightened his wire-rimmed glasses and then his silk tie.

Rusty still found himself doing a quick financial assessment of every man he met; a habit which disgusted him, but that which he was unable to control. Dark camel hair overcoat atop a tailored black suit. A platinum wide-banded watch. A heavy gold link bracelet on the other wrist, but no rings. Money, lots of money.

"Do you know this guy, Sharon?" he asked, breaking the tense silence that hung between the couple.

She lowered the gun to her side and for the first time, Rusty noticed that she wore nothing but a thin silk mid-thigh nightgown. He'd never seen her this exposed; she always wore a heavy robe if not dressed.

"He's my husband," she said tonelessly.

Leaving Rusty gaping, she headed back to her bedroom to put away her weapon and cover up.

"And you are?" Nick said to Rusty.

Clearing his long bangs from his eyes, Rusty looked Nick over again. "Why do I have to tell you anything? How did you get in here?"

Nick held up a keyring. "Through the front door."

Sharon returned, tightening the sash of her robe.

"Sharon, why does this guy have a key? I thought you were separated," Rusty demanded to know.

Nick stared at the young man. "Kid, I don't know who you are-"

Sharon joined the barrage on their intruder. "Rusty's right. What the hell are you doing here? You didn't call-"

"I've been trying to call for days-"

"Are you that unidentified caller I've been getting?" She shoved her hands in her robe pockets. "I don't answer calls from people who won't identify themselves. Why didn't you just leave a voice mail?"

"I don't leave voice mail," Nick said, just as stubborn as Sharon. "I'm in town for a case. I thought I'd stay here-" He glanced toward what was now Rusty's room.

She stopped him before he could finish. "Sorry. You'll have to go to a hotel."

"I sent my cab away," he protested. "I'm jetlagged and I need to be taking a deposition in-" He checked that expensive watch. "In five hours. I'm not going to waste two of those hours getting a room. And not to put too fine a point on it.." He looked around the condo again. "I own half of this place. I thought the understanding was I could stay here when it town."

"When I said that, I didn't expect you to have the nerve to actually show up." Sharon stepped over to block Nick's way to Rusty's room. "Besides, my guest room is currently occupied."

"I can take the couch," Rusty said quickly. "Really, it's no problem."

Nick started picking up his Louis Vuitton suitcases and garment bag. "Thanks, son, but I couldn't sleep a wink on a set of Ironman sheets."

Ignoring Rusty's gasp of outrage and Sharon's muffled snort, Nick made his way to her bedroom.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sharon called after him.

"To bed," he said and then closed the door.

Rusty and Sharon looked at each other, unsure.

"Really, I can take the couch, Sharon," the young man said.

"No, I can handle him." She turned her steely gaze toward her closed bedroom door. "Slept next to him for twenty years, I can take one more night."

"Are you sure? I mean, what if he-" Rusty flushed.

She snorted again. "There's no worry of that," she said definitely, heading to the bedroom as well, leaving Rusty puzzled.

Nick Raydor had always been a quick change artist, Sharon remembered when she found him in bed already, the light out.

"Queen bed. Gonna be tight," wafted out of the darkness.

"Not if you keep on your side," she warned, coming around to empty side of the bed. It had always been her side during their marriage, but she'd claimed the other side after he'd left. She felt the first irrational prickling of irritation to see him lying on it.

"I'll be dead in a second," he said drowsily.

But she heard him mumbling to himself.

"Sorry, what did you say?" she asked.

"Just doin' my evening prayers," he said, unashamed.

"Flat on your back?"

He chuckled, shaking the bed. "Too old to get down on my knees at the bedside any more."

There was no suggestiveness in his tone, but she still had a quick, hot memory.

Keeping a distinct distance between their bodies, Sharon looked over at Nick. Still wore that damn Jets jersey to bed, she saw. For all his affectations as Nicholas Raydor, Esquire, no silk pajamas for him. Nicky Ray from the streets wore his team's colors in bed.

"Got rid of our bed?" he said, making her jump. He wasn't slipping right off after all.

"No room for a king-sized set in this room."

"Could have kept the house-"

"Nick, let's not go into this for the hundredth time. I thought you wanted to get to sleep." Sharon rolled over, her back to him, grateful for that quick anger to push away any other response to her husband.

Sharon had expected to brood well into the night, but was surprised to wake in the morning with her alarm. To turn it off, she scrambled back over to her side of the bed-had Nick really been there, or was it a dream? When she stumbled into her bathroom and discovered the toilet seat up, she knew it was true.

"Son of a bitch," she grumbled, slamming it down.

Rusty found Sharon's husband puttering around the kitchen, making breakfast.

"I thought you needed sleep," he said to the older man.

Nick peered at the boy from under his thick brows. "I'm on New York time." He motioned to a seat. "What'll you have? Eggs? Pancakes?"

Rusty had to think. "Pancakes I guess." He didn't sit. "But I can help. I cook sometimes."

"Show me where the flour and sugar is," Nick asked.

While Rusty dug around in the cabinets, Nick watched him. "So what's the deal, kid? I think I would have remembered Sharon having another son."

"Stop calling me kid," Rusty said roughly as he set the containers on the countertops. "Please," he added.

"Sorry," Nick said. "It's a East Coast thing."

He opened the refrigerator and pulled out the egg carton. "How about dude? A lot more California."

Rusty gave a short laugh and handed Nick a mixing bowl. "I'm a case of Sharon's. That is, I'm a witness for a case. I need to be in protective custody."

After measuring the ingredients into the bowl, Nick mixed them briskly. "It's not safe for you to live with your family?" he asked casually without looking at the young man.

Taking a deep breath, Rusty plunged in. "My Mom's not around. I don't want my Dad around. So Sharon's taken me in. I really appreciate that," he said, sounding self-righteous and choosing to forget his more petulant attitude of the recent past.

Nick nodded at Rusty's school uniform. "I see you're going to Saint Joseph's. Our kids went there."

"That's what she said." Without being asked, Rusty got out a griddle and heated it on the stovetop, ready for the pancake mix. "It's okay."

"Claire and Brice did well at Saint Joe's," Nick said conversationally.

Rusty shrugged and began setting the table. Nick returned to cooking, seeing this was not a young man who poured his guts out to anyone who asked. He'd just have to trust Sharon that she knew what the hell she was doing having this young man living in her home.

She came storming out of her bedroom, immaculately dressed and not a hair out of place. "You left the toilet seat up," she accused Nick disagreeably.

"Sorry," he said, flipping a pancake onto a plate for her. "Why don't I share your bathroom from now on, son-"

"From now on?" Sharon interrupted. "You'll be moving to a hotel today-"

Rusty's head swiveled back and forth, watching the two of them face off.

"I thought I made it clear last night," Nick said. "I'm here on a case. I'll be staying in our home."

"This is not your home," she fumed. "I chose it, I decorated it-"

"My name's on the title and I paid for half," he pointed out.

Sharon cursed her foolishness at keeping one financial tie to this man. At the time she bought this condominium, they were calling it a trial separation, but they'd seemed to have settled easily into two separate lives. It had been easy enough to forget she even had a husband, and yet here he was, demanding as ever-

He offered her a plate of pancakes. She snatched it from him and dropped to a chair at the table.

"How long are you in LA then?" she wanted to know as she poured syrup over her pancakes.

Rusty accepted a plate as well and sat, his lively gaze darting between them.

"Hard to say. We're still in the preliminary stages for the trial."

"Great," Sharon muttered. "What's the case?"

"We're suing Hancock Enterprises on behalf of an injured employee for ten million," Nick said smoothly, joining them at the table.

Sharon shook her head in disgust. "So it'll be months."

"At least a couple."

"No," she stated, folding her arms.

"I'll be out early, back late, probably will even sleep at the practice's office a couple times. Seven days a week. You remember how it was when I was on a case. You won't even know I'm here," Nick said between steady bites of his pancakes.

Rusty waited, watching Sharon's face. He could see the wheels turning in her mind.

"And it would help me out." Nick took a deep gulp of his cooling coffee. "Don't we owe that to each other, as husband and wife?"

She hissed, discontent at his reference to their union.

Incongruous in his Jets jersey and mismatching boxers, his hair still tousled with sleep, Nick bore into Sharon with his intense gaze. "You wanna get rid of me, then file for divorce. Are you ready to do that?"

Before Sharon could reply, the doorbell rang. Rusty rushed to the door and yanked it open.

Flynn stood in the hall with a carton holder of coffee cups. "Ready for action, Captain?" he called over Rusty's shoulder. "A dead body waits for no one."

Nick rose from his chair and stalked toward the door.

"He works with Sharon," Rusty babbled to Nick, trying to break up the escalating tension.

Flynn took in Nick's obvious bedwear. "Sorry, not enough for overnight guests," he said tightly.

"Had my coffee," Nick said, veering off to the bedroom.

Sharon checked her cell phone and saw the text from Flynn announcing their new case-Nick's presence was already causing her to be less than attentive with her work, just like the old days. Cursing under the breath, she gathered up her overcoat and purse, shoving her phone inside. Flynn asked her, "Who the hell was that?" She brushed by him without replying.

Rusty leaned in and whispered, "The husband!"

Before Flynn could respond, Sharon barked from the end of the hall. "Come on you two! We're going to be late!"

After giving Sharon's shut bedroom door one more glare, Flynn closed the front door behind Rusty.

~_ E/N: It's not just my BSG fangirlness which makes me 'cast' Edward James Olmos as Sharon's husband. He's a great actor, and if he were willing, the producers should snap him up. I'm trying to make Nick Raydor a different character than William Adama, and yet someone EJO could play well. We'll see how that goes! _


	2. Chapter 2

_Warning for salty cop talk and adult concepts_

Sharon fished around at the very back of her desk drawer and found one stray butterscotch candy which Fritz Howard had missed when he collected his wife's stash. She'd seen it every time she'd reached for a pen, but had resisted its siren call until now.

She acknowledged that she was stressed as she popped the candy in her mouth and glared through the blind slats to the squad room, where her force was trying not to look her way with little success.

Thankfully she'd been out in the field on their new case most of the day; there was too much necessary while coordinating the investigation for gossiping to begin.

But now they were back in the squad room, greasy take-out lunch bags were being chucked in the garbage, ties loosened, or in the case of Sykes, her blazer was shed, and lips started to flap. One by one, they were drifting past Flynn's desk and then their gaze would lift to look through her window, only to dart away when she glared back.

This was exactly the sort of unprofessionalism she'd wanted to avoid in her career...And had succeeded ever since Nick Raydor and his overpriced luggage had caught a plane to New York City. He was tucked away in a corner of her life like his dirty Nikes and faded jeans had been moved into the back of the guest room's closet for his few, limited visits to the West Coast. She sucked hard on the candy, giving herself a sharp sugar rush.

Louie Provenza stopped by Flynn's desk. "What the hell's wrong with you and Raydor today?" he growled. "You've been a rude asshole and she's been a snippy bitch-at least more snippy than usual."

Flynn hunched his shoulders and didn't look up at Provenza. "Nothin' wrong with me," he muttered. "Couldn't say for the captain."

"Let's see...Couldn't be our case. Just another missing pretty young white woman," mused Provenza, leaning on Flynn's desk. "Sadly all too common in this squad-"

"I just think," burst out Flynn, "that we've been doin' pretty good here, considering all the changes that have happened in the last year. We've got a smoothly running unit, and I'd hate to see that fucked up!"

The older man's bushy eyebrows rose. "And what would be fucking that up?" he asked, glancing around the room.

Sanchez had been reading through his notes, but looked up to shrug.

Tao, who had been examining the dregs in the office coffee carafe with suspicion, shrugged as well. They'd all tried stopping by Andy's desk to find out what had put a burr up his ass today, with no success. No one had dared to storm the ramparts of their captain's office, though. Their failure didn't stop the most seasoned investigator on the squad; he would get to the bottom of things.

Provenza rubbed his chin. "Let's see. You picked up the boss and the kid this morning-"

Andy began shuffling his files rapidly, still not making eye contact.

Hooting, Provenza asked, "What, did you find a big ol' man in our maiden queen's bed?"

Flynn tried to control his expression, but couldn't.

Clutching his chest, Provenza gasped: "Holy shit!"

Even Sykes, who'd been pretending to work, cocked her head. Buzz hurried from across the room to hear better.

They all tried to not look toward Raydor's office, but unfortunately, once an impulse is there, it couldn't be stopped. Six sets of eyes swung up, just in time to see Raydor move to the window and snap her blinds shut.

"Do tell," Tao said silkily, being the first to find speech after Flynn's shocking confirmation.

"It wasn't some _man_," Andy insisted. "It was her husband. That's all. Her husband's back."

Shoulders slumped. That wasn't such titillating news after all. Squad members wandered away, but Provenza remained. The old hunter still smelled blood.

"So what's he like?" he asked innocently.

"Like?" Flynn shrugged. "I dunno. A man."

"Tall man, fat man, old man?" peppered Provenza. "You're a cop; give a description."

"Just not the kinda guy I'd imagine her with, that's all." Andy turned his back to face his computer screen.

Provenza leaned over his shoulder and murmured in his ear. "Really? And just what sort of man were you _imaging_her with?"

Flynn's "Fuck off," was succinct and to the point, but before the discussion could continue further, Rusty arrived from school, dragging his book bag behind him.

"Is she in a meeting?" he asked, motioned to Sharon's closed window blinds.

"I believe she was seeking some privacy," Buzz informed him. "Why don't you have a seat here?" he said, pointing to a spare desk.

The squad began to reform, drifting closer to the young man as he pulled his school books out.

"So..." said Tao. "Anything new these days?"

Rusty looked up at the expectant faces above. "Uh..."

Sharon's door flung open. "Rusty," she barked. "Get in here."

Everyone else hurried back to their desks. "Yes, I believe there's a new case to work," she pronounced with sarcastic approval. "I will be out in ten minutes and expect a full update."

"Yes, ma'am," said Flynn coldly. "We'll have everything in order."

Sharon shut the door sharply behind Rusty, who dumped his hastily gathered books on a table.

"You can study in here," she said.

"So they wouldn't pumped me?"

"Were they trying?"

"I think so," he admitted.

"Dammit to hell. Damn that man," she growled.

"Listen, Sharon, if he's bad news, you should get a restraining order or something-"

She gave a ragged laugh. "No Rusty, he's not that sort of bad news. He's..." She said no more until an uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

She made a tight smile. "Good day at school?"

He tried again. "Sharon-"

Her cell phone rang. Unable to disguise her relief, she dug it out and answered without looking at the identity.

"Captain Raydor."

"I thought you didn't answer the phone for unidentified calls."

"What you want, Nick?"

"What time will you be home?"

"What the hell?" she muttered, but then had to wave off Rusty as he came closer, concerned.

"The kid gets home from school soon, doesn't he?"

She stared at the phone as though it was biting her. Putting it back to her ear, she said, "If it's any of your business, he comes to the headquarters after school until I'm free. Then we go home together."

"Is that good for him? To sit around that squad room for hours a week?"

She was fairly certain her head was going to explode at any moment. "It's none of your business-"

"Listen, I'll come pick him up."

"I thought you were going to be so busy. Working late seven days a week."

"A witness on our disposition list flaked. I'm free. Going to lease a car and then I'll pick Rusty up."

She opened her mouth to tell him to fuck off-but then she looked at Rusty, who'd sat at the table and was trying to sort through his schoolbooks, all while giving her worried looks.

"Okay," she finally said. "We're on the eighteenth floor-"

"I can find your squad," he said with annoying confidence. "What do you want for dinner?"

"Dinner?"

The ever hungry teenager's head shot up.

"Yeah, I'll cook somethin'."

"The New Yorker remembers how to cook?"

"I miss it. I miss a lot of things about our old life," he said, his voice low.

"We'll see you in an hour then," she said, cutting him off from any more confessions.

Nick sounded like he was making notes. "Eighteenth floor-"

Sharon stared at the closed blinds. "Actually, give another call when you're downstairs. It'll just be easier if Rusty meets in you at the curb. No parking issues."

His familiar chuckle, intimate and infuriating at the same time, came through her phone. He knew what she was hoping to avoid.

"Call," she warned and disconnected without saying goodbye.

"You're going to make me go with that guy?" Rusty asked as soon as she ended the call.

"He's offering you a ride home, Rusty," she explained. "It's not conducive to your studies to hang around here. You're exposed to-"

"What, bad things?" he said sarcastically.

"You can call me if he's being a pain," Sharon told the young man. "But go home, do your homework, eat a hot dinner, not something I've nuked in three minutes-"

"I'm sure he'll treat me like a son," Rusty grumbled petulantly.

She stared back at him. A thousand thoughts tore through her mind like windblown leaves. Finally she said, "Do your homework," and left the office for her briefing.

Despite his best efforts to talk Sharon out of it, Rusty found himself in an low slung Audi coupe, speeding toward her condo with Nick Raydor.

"I'm gonna stop at the store. You need anything?" asked Nick.

"We've got plenty of food," protested Rusty.

"I'm sure she doesn't have a six pack of Dos Equis tucked in the back of the fridge."

"You drink?" Rusty asked disagreeably.

Nick raised his eyebrows but didn't take his eyes off the road. "I have a beer after work, yes."

Rusty stared out the window They were driving down Sunset. There was Corey, still on the same corner...Jake had a new leather jacket...

He focused on his hands twisting in his lap. "Stop at the store. I don't care."

But once they got home, Nick Raydor didn't settle on the couch with a beer and his case files as Rusty expected.

"Let's get some sweats on and grab a basketball," he suggested.

Rusty watched the older man head into his bedroom. "Huh?" He trailed after Nick, fretful at the invasion of his space.

"My stuff should still be here," grumbled Nick, pushing through Rusty's clothes in the closet.

"Yeah, there's some of your things back there." Rusty craned his neck, nervous to see someone going through his belongings.

Nick quickly found what he wanted. "There's dust on this ball," he said accusingly. "Don't you ever take it out?"

Rusty held out his arms. "Do I look like a basketball player?" He looked over Nick. "And you don't either," he added rudely.

Nick tossed the ball toward the boy, who bobbled it but managed to hang on.

"It's all in the heart, not the body," he said, "Meet you at the front door in five."

Rusty groaned, but reached for the dresser drawer holding his gym clothes.

The condo complex had a half basketball court and two tennis courts, as well as a workout gym. No one was on the basketball court in the evening gloom, the October weather putting a cold snap to the air.

"Don't play basketball much," grumbled Rusty, wanting to clarify what his skill level would be. This old guy probably thought he could beat up the kid's ass and show who was in charge here. His first foster father had been like that.

Nick dribbled around, finding his rhythm. "Damn, haven't played ball in at least ten years," he said, joy in his voice. "Used to go to the park down the street from my co-op. Bunch of old fat men talking smack and clanking the rim. But after about four heart attacks, the gang sorta broke up." His grin was wide under his thick mustache and his dark eyes twinkled at Rusty.

The boy shrugged, trying not to laugh at the mental image. Nick had bowed legs under his long shorts and his loose shirt didn't disguise his stout trunk. Maybe he could take this old guy...Rusty moved in, trying to steal the ball-

With surprising quickness, Nick pivoted away and took a shot at the basket. Sure enough, it hit the rim and bounced back toward Rusty, who took possession.

Nick stayed an arm length away but ready to block his shot. "Nice attempt at taking me down last night," he said smoothly.

Rusty craned his neck, trying to see around the older man's bulk to get his shot. "Yeah, thanks," he said dryly. "Too bad Sharon gave me shit about it on the way to school."

"As she should. I could have killed you," Nick said. "But I'm glad to see you've got Sharon's back."

Perversely, Rusty switched points of view. "She doesn't need some man to take care of her," he protested and took the opportunity to chuck the ball at the basket.

It missed by a mile and bounced off the chain link fence, back into Nick's waiting hands.

"Of course not," he agreed. "But even cops have partners. Loner cops end up as dead cops."

"Were you a cop too?" Rusty moved to block the basket from Nick's charge.

The older man stepped back, dribbling as he checked for a good shot. "Nope. Just listened to a lot of shop talk while being married to one. My best friend was Sharon's old partner-he knew what I expected of him."

The dark gaze bored into Rusty again and the boy stood taller. Nick slipped past him to try for a lay-up. It rolled around the rim tantalizingly, but didn't fall in. Rusty made the recovery and darted to the back of the court to try for a three pointer.

"Sharon knows I've got some good moves," he grumbled more to himself than Nick. "I coulda taken you if she hadn't come along." He gave the other man an unfriendly look. "The case I'm a witness on, I held my own with a serial killer who'd killed like, tons of woman." He tried for his shot and it rebounded off the backstop, right back into his hands. He dribbled and considered the elusive basket again.

Nick put his hands on his hips. "She's got a point. Someone who victimizes young woman, children, hookers, they choose those people because they're weak and can't defend themselves. A sociopath is dangerous because they can't feel empathy for anyone, but they're nothing more than a coward." He moved forward, blocking the basket. "Now me...I'm a trained killer. I wouldn't do it for a thrill and to feel control. I do it to survive and you grabbing me in the dark wasn't going to end well."

Rusty laughed, but the sound was high and nervous. "What the hell-"

"A Marine in Vietnam, son." Nick charged forward and neatly stole the ball from Rusty's slack grip. "Just a couple years older than you." But when he tried to make a fade-away shot, it fell short. "Shit," he muttered.

Rusty took possession and turned away, dribbling on the edge of the court, watching the older man from the corner of his eye. He'd call bullshit on the trained killer thing, but there was something matter of fact in the way Nick had said it, and the tired resignation in his drooping eyes.

In that blank gaze, Rusty saw the difference. The nudge of Philip Stroh's erection against his back as he'd held Rusty tight to him with a knife to his throat...It had been very different from Nick's solid grip on his neck the night before. Phillip wanted to kill him; would enjoy doing it. Nick would have done it because he had to and probably would have gotten drunk afterward.

And then the moment of understanding was gone. Nick moved in close, putting a hand on Rusty's back to keep the boy from turning toward the basket. His voice was low. "I take care of my own. No one's going to take advantage of my wife. Nice cell phone you've got. Who's paying the bill? Two hundred dollar sneakers; who bought those? Is that the outline of a laptop I see in your backpack?"

Rusty wheeled to face him. "You don't know shit about me-" he spit out. "I didn't even want to stay with Sharon! So she's given me some things-"

"That's how the con always works." Nick pressed closer, hissing in Rusty's ear. "Never act like you want it."

"I didn't want it!" Rusty insisted. "I wanted to live with my real mom!" He kept the ball tucked under his arm to protect it.

Nick took on a more conciliatory tone. "Listen, I came from the streets. I had my hustles. FIgure you did too."

"I doubt my hustle was like yours," Rusty sneered, looking Nick up and down. The thought of him standing on Sunset was ridiculous.

The hard gaze softened, and in horror, Rusty realized that Nick somehow knew about his past. Sharon wouldn't have told him; she couldn't have-

"We both survived, that's the important part," Nick said. "Sharon's tough as nails, but I know from experience, she's got a thing for wounded bad boys. Sort of her blind spot-"

"And you think I'll hurt her like you must have?"

Nick's grin was rueful. "Something like that."

Rusty took the older man's inattention as a opportunity and quickly fired off another shot, but it bounced off the rim again. "Shit," he growled.

"Yeah, screw this," Nick agreed. "Let's bag it and hit the showers. Gotta get dinner made before the ol' lady gets home."

Rusty nodded in agreement, and followed Nick's wide back toward Sharon's building, the night sky now as inky black above the city's yellow glow.

"I won't, you know," he said to the thick head of sweaty hair before him going up the stairs.

Nick didn't look over his shoulder. "We'll see," he said, and Rusty heard that world-weary tone again. He bit back any retort.

Sharon took careful bites of the pasta Nick had prepared, needing swallows of water to force down the food which seemed dry as sawdust despite the creamy sauce.

Rusty kept darting his gaze between Nick and her, but chomped through his dinner with his usual efficiency.

Nick chatted blandly while taking swigs from his bottle of beer. "-So should be going to trial by next Wednesday," he finished his story.

"How long do you expect the trial to take?" she asked.

"They could always offer a settlement," he told her, "but unless it's for the ten million we're asking, I'm not going to let the client settle."

"Gotta wring every penny out for your half, right?"

"Yep," he said, unrepentant.

"Done," Rusty announced. He jumped up and took his plate to the sink. "Guess I need to get going on my homework."

"I can drop you at school tomorrow," said Nick, "no need for Sharon to take the time."

She ground her teeth at his usual slick moves, but gave a short nod.

"Thanks," Rusty said, uncertain. "Goodnight then."

They both murmured, "goodnight," as the boy headed to his bedroom. Nick collected her half-eaten plate without asking and took it with his to the sink.

Sharon waited until she was sure Rusty had closed his bedroom door. "Nick," she said.

"Yeah?" He didn't turn to face her as he scraped off the plates before putting them in the dishwasher.

"I want a divorce."


	3. Chapter 3

Nick glanced at Rusty's closed bedroom door. "Why don't we take this somewhere else," he said and headed to Sharon's bedroom.

Squaring her shoulders, Sharon followed him. Once in the room, Nick toed out his athletic shoes before flopping into the armchair by the window. "Is this about laughing boy from this morning? Do you want to get married again?" he asked, his voice tense despite his casual posture.

"What?"

Nick circled his hand, impatient. "The coffee delivery guy."

"Andy? Lieutenant Flynn?" Sharon looked appalled. "You know I would never...With a subordinate."

"Yeah, yeah." He peered at her from under his heavy brows. "If you were in love with someone else, I'd give you that divorce."

She folded her arms and glared down at Nick. Theirs was a separation which worked well for them, satisfying their religious beliefs, maintaining pragmatic financial arrangements and retaining the tenuous emotional bonds that had frayed but not broken. There was an unsigned part of the contract; if one of them truly wanted to remarry, they would break their vows before God-something not taken lightly by either one. It would take a hell of a lot more than her gaze occasionally drifting toward a bowed silver head out in the squad room for her broach that idea. Besides, she'd spent enough time mediating the problems between Brenda Johnson and Will Pope to see the cautionary tale that lay in workplace romances.

Nick settled back in the chair. "So it's about the boy."

She perched on the end of the bed and waited.

"I looked into him today; found out the story-"

"What?" She bounced up. "How could you get into a juvenile's records?"

"I've got my ways." He held up a wide palm. "Listen, I come home-"

"This is not your home; I don't care what the title says!" She started to pace the room.

"And you've got some teenage boy fresh from the streets living with you!" he said as though she hadn't spoken. "He could come in here and rape you one night-" Nick leaned forward, forcibly gripping the chair's arms.

"Rape?" She quickly looked to the closed door, even though there was no way Rusty could hear them. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Come on, Sharon! You're a cop. You've seen it happen."

"Yeah, I'm a cop. You don't think I can assess someone-"

"Normally, yes. But what's happened to my cold as steel Raydor in this case?" he asked, trying to catch her gaze as she stormed in small circles. "Who never let any sob story cloud her emotions?'

She stopped at the window, staring blindly at the closed curtains.

"I've known this kid a day. I'm not going to make any judgement calls yet. But we've both been around the justice system way too long not to know how these things usually play out. What he's been through-"

She swung around. "How much do you know?" she challenged him.

It was his turn to drop his gaze. "That he's been abandoned by his family and is a ward of the state. That he's got priors for 'loitering' on Sunset. That's he witnessed a woman's body being dumped in Griffith Park while out there with an older man-"

"And that means crazed sex fiend just waiting to attack me?"

"I was one of your rescue projects, so I know you can be swayed by a bad boy." Lacing his fingers, Nick shook his head in frustration. "Don't forget, Sharon. I've been that boy. Kicked around, then kicked out. Wanting to be a good kid, but-remember my Aunt Flora?" He looked up and Sharon nodded.

"Sweetest, toughest old broad on the Lower East Side. Took in this punk kid-"

"You weren't a punk," she insisted softly.

He went on as though she hadn't spoken. "I loved her so much for giving me a home when no one else would. I wanted to do right for her, to make her proud. But I also wanted to get laid, get stoned, to get drunk and to have a black leather jacket, not necessarily in that order."

She protested: "Rusty's not like that."

Nick slumped back in the chair. "So that's it? It's about what happened with Brice?"

She jutted out her jaw, but didn't reply this time.

"We can't have a do-over there, I don't care how much we want it."

"Everything turned out fine with him-"

"I don't know about you, but he hasn't RSVPed my invitation for Thanksgiving," Nick pointed out. "I even told him last time we talked that I'd be here in LA. We could have a family dinner."

"Well, that's what probably turned him off."

"Come on, Sharon. Whatever happened between us, we never took it to the kids and you know it."

When she still didn't respond, his rough voice softened. "How long have you had Rusty here, six months?"

"Four."

"It's still the honeymoon, sweetheart. He's just happy to have a roof over his head and three hots. Is he helping you around the house, doing his homework-"

"And what's wrong with that?"

"You've had the kid here as long as you've had this new command?"

"Oh, you've got it all figured out," she said with spirit. "Don't analyze me, Nick."

He raised his eyebrows. "I always said I knew you better than I knew myself. To my detriment."

She gave a watery chuckle and fell back on the bed, suddenly exhausted. The new case was draining already and Nick's reappearance wasn't going to help. This damn man was relentless. She was the witness under cross-examination...

He remained mercifully silent. She kicked off her pumps, wondering why the hell she was still wearing them. He caught one of her feet, giving the sole a gentle rub.

"Stop that," she said with absolutely no conviction.

He only laughed as his thumb pressed her toes back just enough to force out a groan of pleasure.

"I'll just have to trust your instincts that Rusty's different-at least from me," he said. "If you want this, I'll help you."

She stared at the ceiling; there was a bit of cobweb caught on the plaster. "Want what?"

"Do you hope to foster Rusty? Even adopt him?"

"I-" She hadn't dared to think that far ahead until this afternoon. Now he wanted her to say it aloud? She could only repeat that one thing, "I want a divorce," even as she offered the other foot for his ministrations.

"You've looked into it? I know shit about family law," he grumbled. "I guess it's not good to be separated-the husband's still out there. But to be in the middle of a divorce? It takes years to finalize an adoption. You want another six month delay? Has this skank mother of his been found?" he peppered her.

She put the back of her hand across her eyes. "I don't know."

He came to lie beside her on the bed. Gathering her close, he lay his head on her belly so she could run her fingers through his hair. Being together like this had always been something that soothed them both.

"How's his therapy going?" he finally asked.

"He didn't want to see a therapist."

His tone sharpened again. "Sharon-"

She bit down on her lower lip.

"Dammit, Sharon, if he's got any hope of getting out this shitty childhood he's had, he needs to talk about it."

"Yes, yes," she muttered, nervously plucking at the soft strands of his hair.

"How is DCFS letting him not see a therapist? Has Captain Raydor assured them it's all right?"

"Aren't you tired yet, Nick? Surely you're still on New York time."

"Yeah, bedtime," he muttered, crawling up the bed to lie side by side with her.

She let him pull her into a loose embrace. Then she didn't have to meet his imploring gaze. "I just want to do what's best for Rusty," she said.

He pushed aside her hair with his nose and rasped in her ear, as though conveying a deep secret: "It's all right to want this for you. From the sound of it, Rusty's mother didn't want him, his father didn't want him for the right reasons...Perhaps it's a good thing for him to be wanted by someone." The bristles of his mustache tickled her cheek.

Her fist tightened on Nick's chest over his heart. Under his soft tee shirt, she could feel his thick wedding band on a chain around his neck. She kept her wedding set in her jewelry box next to her first communion cross and that Play-doo necklace Claire made for her in kindergarten. Nick had insisted on a diamond and platinum band with a two carat engagement setting. None of it had mattered in the least to Sharon, but she'd worn it to make him happy. It had felt inappropriate on a cop and it had been a relief to remove it and put it away.

His hand traveled from her back to the zipper of her skirt, resting lightly on her hip. His hum was inquisitive, but undemanding.

Her fist opened and she pushed gently on his shoulder. He immediately released her and she rolled away.

"What time is it getting to be?" she said, focusing blearily at her bedside clock. Her glasses were out in the living room.

He propped his hand behind his head. "You want me to take the couch tonight?"

She rolled her eyes. "That won't be necessary. But I would like some privacy to get ready for bed."

He heaved off the crumpled duvet with a tired groan. "No problem; me and the couch are old friends. This new one doesn't look as comfy as that leather beast from the family room-"

"No need to play it up, Nick." She held the door open for him.

"Maybe you just want to be held?" he suggested, pausing beside her.

"One more word, and you can take the couch."

He didn't leave and she finally met his gaze. He cradled her jaw, his thumb rubbing gently as if he could massage out the tension set there. "Don't stay in this marriage out of habit, Sharon." His smile was sad. "I sorta thought I'd be your reclamation project for our golden years, but if you want it to be Rusty, I guess I can take a place at the back of the line. Maybe it'll be the first sign that we're moving on."

She forced herself to keep eye contact and not to blink.

"Don't you want to be in love again? I seem to remember it felt pretty damn good. Doesn't even have to be me," he offered generously.

"Yeah, well, I've _liked_ a couple of guys since the last time I let you come in here, but no falling in love."

He wheezed a laugh, wincing in false outrage. "Maybe I will go to the couch after all."

"Oh please. I bet you've got me beat times ten. Men have it so much easier." She pushed him out the door. "Getting laid is still on your list."

He made some grumbly protest sounds, but trundled back to the kitchen to continue cleaning up. She closed the door firmly and the air instantly cooled in the dim room.

Shedding her suit and rehanging it in the closet for dry-cleaning-crime scenes always demanded a cleaning, even if bodily fluids weren't involved-Sharon began her nightly rituals.

_Rite of the marriage_

Father Oscar had started right off with that term at their first pre-marital counseling. She'd been impatient; Nick had listened carefully to every word. It was the damn lawyer.

She tossed her underwear into the laundry bin and pulled her nightgown on over her head, then shrugged into her robe. Tucking back her hair, she began removing her makeup.

_Nicholas and Sharon, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?_

Hell, she's nearly run down the aisle at St. Joseph's. She'd fallen deeply in love for the first time in her life, blinding her to a couple red flags, deep holes in the road, and an approaching storm. But the confidence to believe she'd get her gold shield before the age of thirty in what was still a man's profession had made her ignore all those warning signs of trouble ahead. That and the incredible sex.

_"Will you honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?_

She scrubbed her face a bit too vigorously. Nick Raydor was a rare man in eighties-everyone seemed so progressive at the time, and now she laughed at the bullshit she had to accept on a daily basis. He had wanted her to succeed in her career, encouraged and helped he where he could. That was honoring her as a wife in her mind, not demanding she stay at home with the kids. One of the reasons they had bought into a law firm was to allow himself more flexibility for the child care that her work hours wouldn't allow.

She wet her toothbrush. And the fact being a district attorney with a cop wife led to too many conflicts of interest, particularly when she was a very good detective with numerous arrests to her credit.

_Will you accept children lovingly from God, and bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?_

They had tried, even if it meant working on a comfortable interpretation of 'church' and how many of the institution's teaching to incorporate. Love, Christ's love and laws governing love...They had that covered. She began brushing her hair.

They had given their consent before God: _To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part._

They'd run through that whole list in a quick ten years, just not the death part. Still waiting on that one in their holding pattern of a legal separation.

Flicking off the bathroom light, she returned to the bedroom. Straightening the covers first from their earlier cuddling, she sank to her knees beside the bed. Nick had reminded her that she didn't do this enough.

She could smell him on the bedding already. She bowed her head, but it snapped up at his light knock on the door. "Come in," she called out.

"Show off," he said, seeing her kneeling. "Gotta go full out, I guess," he grumbled, joined her on the floor with a crack of his knees. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands, giving her privacy again.

She closed her eyes too. Heat radiated from his close shoulder. After days of going over the property, visitation with the children, access to various accounts, and her rights as a partial owner of his firm, he'd pushed the contracts away. She'd felt such relief, until he waved off their lawyers and said, "So, what about sex?"

"I assume you'll have sex with other women," she'd said promptly. "Thank God that the Catholic sacrament doesn't say anything about 'forsaking all others'. You have an out."

His face had twisted in distress.

"Nick, don't be ridiculous," she'd chided him. "You're _never_ going to have sex again in your life?" She stared at the rings that she still wore. "I'm a realist. It doesn't matter to me."

He'd remained silent for a long time. "And you too," he finally said flatly.

"Me too what?"

"You will have sex again. With someone else."

It had seemed like an insane suggestion at the time, but she'd eventually gotten over about a dozen fears and hang-ups, and had enjoyed discreet relationships which had never emotionally move beyond going out for meals, entertainment, and yes, sex. Although she didn't tell any of these men that she was still married, it was always a barrier which kept her from falling in love.

And also occasionally when Nick stayed at the condo, a look which pass between them, unspoken but understood communication, which meant he came to her bed that night rather than go to the guest room. She'd never thought of herself as a woman who put aside common sense for a great lay, but the bastard was still the best.

"Amen," he said, jerking her out of her thoughts. She mumbled, "Amen," as well and rose.

Still on his knees, he said, "Help me," with feigned helplessness, holding up his arm.

She tugged him to his feet, her mouth pursing in discontent.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that your face would freeze in that expression if you kept it?" he said, still teasing.

"This expression's going to stay. My skin has lost elasticity at my age."

As he muttered protests, she walked around the bed to her old side. When the light was extinguished, she felt that she could speak in the darkness.

"And I know you too, Nick. Better than you know yourself. You're also trying to fix something that can't be undone."

His fingertips lightly brushed her bare arm but he reached no farther, his breathing soon deepening to sleep.

~*~

Sharon awoke with her alarm again. She hadn't slept this well in ages. When she clacked out of the bedroom in her heels, her mind already racing with what needed to be done on the new case, she found Rusty chewing his way through a bowl of cereal while reading his history book.

"Where's Nick?" she asked, turning on kettle for tea.

"He went out for a morning walk," muttered Rusty, flipping the page. "But he said he'd give me a ride to school; you could go on ahead to work."

Sharon slid onto the counter stool beside Rusty.

"So, he's staying?" Rusty asked.

She blinked. Her demand for a divorce hadn't gone anywhere last night, had it?

"Do you want him to go?"

The boy closed the book. "Yeah, I think so," he said, challenge in his voice.

She finally saw her glasses on the counter. She'd been missing them all night. Putting them on, she squinted at Rusty.

"Why?" she said.

Rusty dropped his gaze. "He seems to bug you."

"Forget me. Does him being here bother you?"

"So if I say, he's gone?"

"Not necessarily. If you say he's making you uncomfortable, or making things difficult for you, I'll seriously consider telling him to go. But it'll be my decision. I'm the adult; you're the child. You may remember this from one of our first discussions about you living here."

The kettle bubbled, signaling the hot water was ready. She returned to the kitchen to prepare her morning tea.

Rusty jumped off his stool and began stuffing his school books in his bag. "You want him around?"

She screwed the lid on her travel mug tightly. "It's not that...It's complicated."

He shifted his gaze toward her bedroom as he pulled his backpack on. "I've noticed."

Nick came through the front door and saw that Rusty was ready to go. "Let me grab a quick shower and we can hit it."

The boy flopped down on the couch. He checked the clock on his phone. "We're good," he said, but there was a warning in his voice.

Gathering up her overcoat and bag, Sharon double-checked the situation. "You're good?" she asked Rusty.

He nodded quickly.

Nick was tugging his sweatshirt off. "People were staring at me-for walking down the street."

At the door, Sharon looked back, tossing her hair behind her shoulders. She had to go-now. "It's LA, Nick," she said impatiently. "No one walks in Southern California. Only jogging or driving."

She raised her eyebrows at Rusty. "Call me," she said significantly. "If anything comes up."

Nick caught her meaning and looked outraged.

Rusty snickered.

"Can we expect you for dinner?" Nick asked, gaining the upper hand as she could only give a vague answer, caught off-guard.

"Good thing I'm here then, isn't it?" he said, heading to the bathroom. "We must provide a proper home for Rusty, Look good to DCFS."

Sharon slammed the condo's front door, but found little satisfaction in the meaningless gesture. Once again, that man was right.

~ End Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

_General warning for this fic: There will be possibly disturbing scenes connected to Rusty's past. If that will upset you, it's probably best to pass on this fic. But if you're comfortable watching Major Crimes or The Closer, I don't plan anything darker than you would have seen on the show._

The priest finished reading the liturgy, and Sharon, to Rusty's left, and Nick, to his right, moved to kneel in front of the pew. Rusty gripped the oak bench to keep from following them.

Not that he was being sucked into their beliefs. He hadn't been listening to the mass at all. He had too many things on his mind.

Since moving in with Sharon, she'd had to work on several Sundays, but on all the others, she'd dragged Rusty along to St. Joseph's church.

"You don't have to believe anything said there. Lord knows I don't agree with everything. But I find the experience beneficial. I can reflect on the past week and truly think about life, sometimes related to the homily, sometimes not."

She's assured Rusty that if he wanted to explore other faiths, she'd be happy to take him to another house of worship. He didn't care either way, so here he sat, just like last Sunday.

Only this time, Nick Raydor was there. Nick, who'd gotten to the bathroom first that morning. Rusty had eaten a bowl of cereal while glaring toward the closed bathroom door. When he heard the knob turning, he darted over to be standing right before the door as though he'd been waiting outside the entire time.

When the door had opened, a cloud of moist steam and a sickeningly familiar scent wafted out. A bulky male figure in a finely-woven cotton dress shirt stretched across a wide chest was at his eye level.

-Down on his knees; that expensive cologne coming off hands gripping his head, forcing him to remain in place for the inevitable. A laugh, mean and deep: "Come on, ya love it, boy. Swallow it down. It's the taste of money."

Rusty had fought not vomit right in Nick's face.

"You okay?" Nick had asked, grabbing his arm. Rusty struggled ineffectually, slapping and growling in the back of his throat, unable to even cry out as he forced his corn flakes to stay in his stomach.

Nick instantly put his hands up and took a step away, watching Rusty's expression intently. The boy could feel that he was flushed, his eyes bright with tears at his effort to keep from throwing up. He took a few deep breathes.

"It's fine. It's just your cologne. I'm allergic," he said with control which amazed even him.

Nick retrieved the cologne bottle from his toiletry bag. "I'll go wash it off in Sharon's bathroom." He moved past Rusty, keeping his distance in the narrow hall.

"You don't have to do that; I'm fine," Rusty called after him, aggravated that now Nick would invade Sharon's personal space. But the older man had kept going, so he'd slammed into the bathroom. The fan had carried that smell away but it was still strong in his nasal passages. Rusty washed the taste of bile from his mouth, avoiding looking in the mirror. He had the feeling that he didn't want to see his own face at that moment.

Nick and Sharon returned to their seats, echoing the congregation's "Amen," and crossing themselves. Rusty started to rise, assuming that meant it was over, but Sharon's hand shot out to hold him in place, her eyes still raised toward the front altar.

The priest began to drone on again and Rusty sighed deeply.

After giving the boy's arm a squeeze, Sharon pulled her hand back.

Red or black? She had been trying to decide on shoes when Nick had knocked on her bedroom door before entering.

"I've got to take another quick shower," he had said, unbuttoning his shirt and tugging it loose from his slacks. "Rusty's in the other bathroom."

As he entered the bathroom, she stared after his broad back. He was pulling his undershirt off over his head. "What in the world for?" she asked.

"My cologne triggered Rusty," Nick said, turning on the shower tap.

She came to the bath's doorway. "Triggered?"

His hand under the water to gauge the temperature, he looked at her steadily for a long moment. "I must smell like one of his johns."

She quickly shook her head. "I'm sure it was just too strong," she said witheringly.

"I see why you love the boy," Nick said, "He won't say what's really hurting him just like you, and deny it when confronted." He yanked his pants and underwear down in one movement.

How dare he say she loved Rusty when she hadn't even said it herself...Rather than retreat, she stepped into the bathroom, hands on her hips, as Nick entered the shower. "Listen, like you said, you've only known Rusty a short time. Don't think you're going to come in here with your knight on a white charger act, and fix everything. I have spent months, every day, with him. I know we can't push him. He has to find some stability and reassurance that food will be in the refrigerator and someone's going to pick him up from school every day. There'll be time to deal with that other stuff down the road."

Finished scrubbing the scent from his skin, Nick turned off the water and peered out. "Towel, please."

She handed him one, purposefully keeping her gaze level with his.

After wiping dry, he wrapped the towel around his waist.

"You're not his father, so stop trying to push in here and act like you are," she told him. "With your 'Daddy knows best' spiel."

Gathering up his clothes, he brushed past her. "And you're not his mother. So stop acting like some enabling Mommy with no sense or knowledge, and start being the damn good cop that I know you are."

Red, she would wear red shoes, she decided through a furious haze. Without another word, she had snatched the right pumps from the closet shelf and had stormed out the bedroom, leaving Nick to redress.

Her phone vibrated. She carefully pulled it from her pocket to check the screen. The woman next to her gave a dirty look, but Sharon read the text anyway.

"Damn," she muttered, getting another withering stare.

She leaned toward her party. "Nick, Rusty, I have to go. Sanchez is outside to pick me up."

"Do you mind?" hissed the woman next to her. Sharon opened her blazer and flashed her shield at the woman before rising.

"You'll need a ride home?" asked Nick, standing.

"Don't worry about it," she said as she wiggled past him.

"We'll do the housework," Nick said, keeping his voice low.

Rusty rolled his eyes. He already knew his chore list; he didn't need this guy acting like he was in charge.

"Call us when you're ready to come home," Nick said. "We'll pick you up."

She was gone down the aisle, already thinking about the case.

Rusty slumped in the pew as Nick sat down again. Now this guy was going to try to get some points by being the dutiful househusband. Well, he's see about that.

~*~

They entered the condominium building's laundry room, carrying two large bags and bottles of soap and fabric softener. Nick dumped his load out on the folding table. "Colors and whites...Sharon probably likes her things done in a delicate load...Or does she handwash..." he mused, trying to remember.

Rusty stood, clutching his bag. He didn't know about separating into these piles that Nick was creating and Sharon hadn't complained yet when he'd done the laundry. "I'll do the laundry. Really. Maybe there's a football game you want to watch-"

Nick glanced at him. "Nope. I'll get my work and go over notes while the loads are going." He held out his hand. "Come on."

Rusty tightened his hold on his bag.

"All right," Nick said levelly and went back to separating. His large hands carefully placed fine lace underwear in a small pile. Rusty looked away.

"Saves on quarters to put our loads in together," said Nick, dumping a pile of dark clothes on the floor. "Just toss your jeans on here."

Rusty moved across the room and emptied his bag into a single washer, shoving it down into the tub. His phone went off. Fishing it out of his pocket, he turned his back on Nick to read the screen.

_Everything okay?_ from Sharon.

Smiling, he replied, _its ok_

Peering over his shoulder, he thought things would be fine as long as Nick keeps his hands off her panties. He did notice that the older man had returned those items to the laundry bag, not leaving them out to be gawked at by anyone who came in.

"Soap?" Nick offered, holding out the large white jug.

Rusty poured a cap-full into his tub, added quarters, and started the machine.

Nick said he'd go back to the condo to retrieve his work. Did Rusty want anything? Soda, sandwich, schoolwork? Rusty shrugged and plopped down in a chair to wait on his laundry.

While Nick was gone, his phone went off again, but it wasn't Sharon this time. _well?_ it read. He stuffed the phone back in his pocket with a shaking hand.

Nick returned and took over three chairs with his briefcase, folders and notepads. Rusty sneered to himself and pawed through the pieces of newspaper until he found the sports section, staring at the page with unseeing eyes.

"You going out for any teams?" Nick asked. "Our boy played lacrosse."

After a deep sigh, Rusty glared at Nick over the paper. "No. Kinda behind the curve on the whole sports thing. Remember my basketball skills?"

Nick grinned. "Never too late to start. We should shoot some hoops later."

Without answering, Rusty raised the paper to block his view. His text went off again. And again.

Nick checked his own phone, his brow furrowed.

Pulling his phone out behind the paper, Rusty read the messages quickly. First message _i need 2 kno._ The second: _like now_

He gulped, panic rising. He looked around the laundry room, but it was just him and Nick. He took a deep breath. "Hey, Nick."

The older man peered at him over his glasses. "Hey, Rusty."

Rusty slumped back. "Nothin'," he grumbled. His phone beeped again. He writhed on the hard plastic chair.

Nick put aside his folders and pulled off his glasses. "Somethin' I can help you with?"

Lolling his head back, Rusty stared at the grimy ceiling. "Maybe," he finally admitted.

"Okay," Nick said, his tone encouraging.

"Sharon gives me an allowance for doing the chores, cleaning up and stuff," Rusty said.

"And I've horned in on your action," Nick said with a laugh. "Sorry, kid. Fold 'em and the money's yours."

"It's not that. It's...It's not enough. I mean, for some things."

"Okay," Nick said, now cautious. "So you a need new income stream?"

"I guess," Rusty said, slumping his shoulders.

"How much are we talkin' about?"

Rusty tried to add up frantically. "Dinner, I 'pose. And maybe a limo?" He felt faint. How much would this cost?

"Dinner, limo?" Nick asked. "Are you talking about the prom?"

Rusty stumbled on. "The homecoming dance at school. There's this girl, you see-"

Nick fell back in his seat. "A girl? This is about some girl?"

"What'd you think I was talkin' about?" Rusty asked suspiciously.

Nick passed a hand across his eyes. "It's just been a really long time since I had a teen, that's all."

"Well you don't have one now," Rusty blustered, hopping up. "Just forget it-"

Nick grabbed him before Rusty could storm out. "Calm down. Come on, give me a damn break."

Rusty fell into the chair near Nick. "She's asked _me_. I never would have...I mean..."

Nick was cautious again. "Do you like her?"

Shrugging, Rusty stared at the grubby toes of his sneakers. "Sure."

"You don't know kind of sure, or sure, you think she's hot but didn't have the guts to ask?"

Rusty shot him a dirty look. "She's not one of those hot girl types."

Nick relaxed, trying to fight his grin. "Tell me about her."

Rusty really didn't want to say anything to this guy, but he was bursting inside. He _had_ to speak. "She's in my English Lit class and on the chess club. Not that many girls play chess."

"Right," Nick said.

"She thinks I'm funny, I guess. I don't think I'm funny-"

Nick smiled, a wide grin under his mustache. "And there you were trying to be one of those Twilight mysterious, brooding boys-"

"Shut up," growled Rusty.

Nick raised his eyebrows. "Hey, show some respect for your elders."

"Sorry," mumbled the young man. "It's just-"

Nick nodded, his smile understanding now. "Yeah. It's crazy when you find yourself wondering what the connection is. When I was your age, through the service and college, my thing was dark girls. Olive skin, black hair, big smiles that just said, everything's nice and easy with me.

Then one night after a trial I'd prosecuted, I went to a cop bar with a couple of the detectives, and there was this redhead at one of the tables. Sitting there stiff as a board, sipping on a half pint glass, trying to look like one of the guys while everyone else was on their fifth bottle of beer. Whitest skin I'd ever seen on a woman, eyes so pale they'd freeze your balls right off."

Rusty knew that gaze; he shifted in his seat.

"_I have to have that_ was all I could think from that moment on. And I couldn't tell you a single reason why her, and not a hundred other attractive women."

Rusty squirmed again at Nick's warm tone. He really, really didn't want to know some man thought about Sharon _that_ way.

Nick went on, not seeing this. "Falling for her was a pain in the ass then and it's a pain in the ass now. But the best pain I've ever had..."

Coming out of his revery, he noticed Rusty's horrified expression. "Anyway, you're much too young for that-"

Rusty squinted indignantly at Nick.

"I know this seems so overwhelming right now, but it's just a dance. In a few years, you'll be hard pressed to remember her name."

"Her name is Poppy," Rusty hissed through gritted teeth. He shouldn't have said a thing-Nick thought it was all so simple, just like getting a hard-on for a pretty woman in a bar. Well it wasn't, but he wasn't going to share any of his dark, desperate worries with this jerk.

Nick grinned again. "That's pretty. And if you've attracted a girl who sounds smart and who knows her mind, it's a good sign for you."

Rusty hadn't thought of it that way. He was still back on the original shock and horror when Poppy had accosted him after chess club to ask him to the dance, her friends huddled at the end of the hall, watching and giggling. He'd managed to put her off then, but now was judgement day.

"Don't worry about some limo. I'll drive you-" offered Nick.

Groaning, Rusty closed his eyes.

"Lots of kids will have their parents driving them-"

"But you're not my parent. Sharon's not my mom. What, I'm going to say, this is the sorta husband of my court-appointed foster care provider? Great, just great."

"You'll say this is Nick. He's going to drive us tonight."

"And you'll wait in the parking lot while we eat?"

"Sure, why not?"

"That is so lame," moaned Rusty. His washing machine shut off. Rushing to it, he yanked his mess of tangled clothes out and staggered to the dryer, leaving a trail of dingy underwear and balled-up shirts behind.

Nick followed, picking up the pieces. Without thanking him, Rusty stuffed them in the dryer and started the machine.

"Maybe you could teach me how to drive before then," he suggested.

Nick laughed outright. "Not likely! And you'd be on some teen learner permit. No driving without an adult. No driving after dark."

Rusty didn't know that. He slumped against a washing machine. This was such a mess...

"You should learn how to drive though," Nick said as he unloaded his washing machines into a rolling cart to carry the laundry to the dryers. "We'll get you to DMV and get you a permit. I can teach you."

Rusty didn't want this guy teaching him anything; trying to look good to Sharon...But...The tantalizing call of the open road...

"Thanks," he said stiffly.

"Sure," Nick said, shooting him a knowing look. "So call this girl and tell her yes," he commanded.

"Oh right." Rusty dug his phone from his pocket and started to reply to Poppy's last urgent text.

A big hand covered his phone. "Call. Tell her in your own voice that you'd be honored to escort her to the dance. That you're looking so forward to it."

Rusty's mouth twisted into a sneer, but Nick kept staring him down. Finally, Rusty nodded. "Okay." He tipped his head toward the door. "I'm just gonna go outside. Quieter there."

Nick called after him: "When Sharon checks that phone later, there better be an outgoing call and not a text!"

~*~

Sharon sat behind her desk with a tired groan. No sign of the missing girl...Flynn would chide her for not calling her by name. Britni Collins, age nineteen, apparently abducted from the coffee hut where she'd been working the late shift alone, in the parking lot of a strip mall off Ventura. Her parents had received text messages from her phone, begging for money to be put in her checking account, which had been emptied an hour before they reported she had not returned home that evening Her car was gone, the shop's door locked. Nothing on the various security cameras from the area, other than her 1998 Toyota Corolla driving past, but the dark-tinted windows made it impossible to see how many were in the vehicle.

The father wanted to put the money in the account, worried that Britni's old bad-news boyfriend had reappeared and convinced the young woman to help him out. But Sharon smelled death and saw a tangled body waiting for them somewhere. She hadn't been on the homicide squad for long, but she found her instincts developing quickly.

She'd texted Rusty about an hour ago to be picked up. They would be here any minute. She began to clear off her desk, checking through the folders and files to see if she'd missed anything in their early evidence gathering.

Rusty and Nick entered the squad room, but Nick stopped before heading to Sharon's office. "Why don't you introduce me?" he told Rusty.

The detectives present, all but Andy Flynn, rose from their desks and moved over to greet them. Rusty mumbled through his introductions of Sykes, Sanchez, Tao, and Buzz, clearly embarrassed, but Nick kept his smile warm until his gaze fell on Flynn.

"I didn't catch your name the other day," he called over the desks.

Flynn glanced up from his monitor which he'd been studying intently. "Flynn. _Lieutenant_ Flynn."

Nick moved to stand by Flynn's desk. The others exchanged worried looks.

Tugging down the sleeves on his black suit jacket he wore over a blue v-necked cashmere sweater, Nick cocked his head. "Do I hear a faint sound of a borough in your voice?" He held up his hand to keep Flynn from speaking. "Don't tell me; let me guess."

He looked over Flynn, sitting rigid in his desk chair. "Queens...Rockaway boy?"

"Roxbury," Flynn admitted through clenched teeth.

"One of those rocks," Nick said airily, smirking.

"While you're all Manhattan, huh?" said Flynn, taking his turn to look Nick over from his hand-stitched Italian loafers to his hundred dollar haircut. "Got rid of your accent?"

"Damn right," Nick said, no offense in his voice. "Doesn't help to sound like an East Village fishmonger when I'm giving the closing argument."

He told Rusty: "These borough boys would take the subway over to rumble with us-"

Sykes mumbled to Sanchez, "Why do I feel as though the theme from West Side Story should start playing?"

Sanchez snickered, but Sykes headed to Sharon's office, and popped in after the briefest of knocks. Sharon looked up from a report she'd been scanning. Over the young detective's shoulder, she noticed Rusty and Nick had arrived.

"I think you better hurry," Sykes warned her. "Your husband and Lieutenant Flynn are out there bumping chests."

Sharon raised her eyebrows. "More like wagging dicks from the look of it," she said with no pleasure, "Let them keep up their sword fight and see who's left standing," leaving Amy unsure what her response should be, so she gave none.

Sharon waved her hand at her detective. "Thanks, Sykes. Tell them I'll be just another minute."

Nick appeared at Sykes' side.

"Nice group of detectives," he said drolly, "That Buzz wanted to show Rusty something with one of his pieces of electronic equipment. They'll be just a few minutes."

Amy beat a retreat, closing the door behind Nick.

"Good to know," Sharon said, giving a tight smile. She returned to scanning the report.

"Been a long time since I've been in a squad room-"

She snapped the folder closed. "I've been thinking about what happened this morning. I think you may be right...In that your presence is probably upsetting to Rusty. So I think-"

"You should leave," he parroted. He tipped his head toward the window where the squad was unsuccessfully trying to not watch them. "But all those men are all right."

"They're not invading his space. Not in his bathroom. Suddenly there at night."

"Do you realize how emotionally stunted this boy is going to be if you protect him from being around older men in situations which aren't completely under his control? He's got to learn how to regain control of his life and it's not going to happen if you coddle him," he warned her.

She glared back but before she could speak, he told her, "Thank God he seems to be taking his own baby steps. Asking a girl to a school dance, okay, actually the girl asked him, but it's a start. He wants to go."

"A girl? To a dance?" Sharon's face lit up.

"Don't get too excited," Nick cautioned her. "He hasn't gotten on the dance floor yet. He needs to earn money for the dinner, maybe get a limo ride-"

Sharon's enthusiasm tempered. "A girl asked _him_? Sounds sort of pushy..."

Nick smirked. "Girls are different these days. They take the lead."

She rose from her chair. "Still-"

"Not like you. Had to chase you down like a fleeing gazelle-"

"You do realize that was all an act to make you feel manly?" she said with a toss of her long hair. She pulled her jacket off the back of her chair and slipping it on.

He stepped closer. "And it worked," he said warmly. "So the game has changed for kids these days, but the goal's the same."

She shoved a few files in her large bag, ignoring his presence.

"You can always check the texts and see just how pushy she was," Nick said. "She was blowing his phone up all morning before he finally broke down and told me what was going on."

"Check his phone?"

"You check his phone, don't you?" Nick said, exasperated.

"Yes," she snapped back. "I just haven't done it in a couple days..." She wasn't being as vigilant as she needed to be, she realized. Here some girl was asking Rusty out, and she hadn't known a thing.

She pulled gathered up her phone and purse. "I'll just give him the money for the dance-"

"Let him earn it, Sharon," Nick lectured as they came through the door. "I've got some ideas-"

Lieutenant Provenza came bustling into the squad room, waving a folder at Sharon as she emerged from her office with Nick. "Captain, I have the Nevada juvvie records on the girl's boyfriend-" He stopped. "Nick! Jeez, Nicky Ray, it's been about a hundred years!" he said with a grin. "What the hell are you doing here..." His face dropped. "Nick Raydor...Why the hell didn't I make the connection?"

"You knew Sharon's husband?" Sykes asked, her eyes lively with curiosity.

Nick smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yes, Louie was in my regular poker game, back in the day." He put his hand in the small of Sharon's back, urging her forward but she seemed rooted in place.

"Yeah," growled Provenza. "With his fiancee's old partner, Steve Reilly, before he ate his piece when the rat squad got to him." His furious gaze swung over to bore into Sharon.

All the others' eyes turned to Sharon. Nick gave her a little push. "Let's get Rusty and go."

Provenza shook his head. "God, I am getting old. Why didn't I connect the name? Nick Raydor, engaged to Sharon Dornan, the Internal Affairs detective who fingered her old partner-"

Flynn's expression was shocked and hurt.

The phone rang in Sharon's office. "I better get that," she said quickly. "It might be important." She fled back to the safety of her office.

Flynn started after her. "Leave her be," Nick said.

Andy snatched the report from Provenza's slack fingers. "I want to be sure she sees this before she goes," he said.

Sharon finished making notes from the phone call and ended it as Flynn entered and closed the door behind him.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" she said coolly.

He tossed the folder down on her desk, unnoticed by either of them. "Is Provenza telling the truth?"

"Does it matter?" she asked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. Her skirt rode up a few inches and for once, she didn't tug it down.

For the first time since she took command, Andy realized she was looking at him openly, without the cold wall she kept in her gaze between her and men. But did it mean she was getting laid by that bastard outside the door and thus felt no need for barriers, or because she was pissed off at her husband and wanted to get the smell of another man on her? Neither option was good or even something he should be thinking. Damn that Provenza and his suggestions...

"Yeah, I think it's going to matter to the unit," Flynn ground out.

"I won't be making excuses or begging for forgiveness from my squad," she said, her tone tough.

He leaned on the desk but stared out the window at the downtown towers. "What happened, Sharon?"

She clamped her jaw, not intending to respond. But she found herself saying, "Reilly was my first partner when I made detective. We were in Robbery. He was an old-timer, but willing to accept a woman and a young woman at that. And only hit on me once or twice." Her smile quavered. "It helped that my boyfriend was accepted as one of the guys in the cop circles even if he was a lawyer.

Nick and I wanted children...A lot of children. We were so stupid. We wanted everything...The big house, the minivan filled with kids...He would be a senior partner in a prominent law firm, I'd be a captain by forty, leading my own squad..."

She shook her head, clearing it. "I realized that Internal Affairs was the best section for a woman who wanted that gold shield and to be a mother, so I transferred over shortly after getting married."

"Okay, but did you have to rat out your old partner?"

"I had to prove myself-" she started to say, then stopped making excuses. "No. Steve was stealing from the evidence on his cases-claiming items were gone when they hadn't been taken, or keeping items when they were recovered. He had a gambling problem and needed the money, but he was still a thief. I did it then, and I'd do it now, dammit, if it was one of you."

She met his gaze. "Got it?" she said.

He nodded slowly. "Got it."

She rose. "So now I better go."

The detectives accepted Sharon's 'good night' with low responses of their own. Flynn rejoined them, watching her leave.

"Damn you, Provenza, you are losing it," he chastised the older detective as soon as she was gone. "How the hell could you not remember Sharon Raydor?"

Provenza shrugged and flopped into his desk chair. "Listen, broads were just body parts in those days. All I remember about Nicky Ray's lady was she had good tits, a decent ass and great legs. She was taken anyway; even Reilly kept his hands off. Now, your buddies, you remember their teams, their drink and their game, to this day."

Sykes, her face showing disgust at Provenza's statement, said, "And Nick Raydor?"

"Mets, Dewer's over rocks, and the queen of diamonds," he said promptly.

Provenza stared at the office door with 'Sharon Raydor' on it. "The queen of diamonds...I made hundreds off him if he had it but nothing else. He'd play any hand with that card right into the ground."

~ end Chapter Four


	5. Chapter 5

_This chapter contains adult sexual situations: Rated M_

Sitting at the dining room table, Sharon had a yellow notepad in front of her, a calculator at the ready, and a full wine glass close. Beside her, Rusty's eyes rolled. She could do this all on her iPad, but she was going old school on him.

She was reviewing his budget for the dance. Or rather, she was creating one for him, and explaining why he must follow it.

After Poppy had taken the plunge, her friend Baylee had jumped next, asking his buddy Trevor to go as well. Bradley, a kid in his history class, heard he was going, and suggested they all chip in for a limousine for the evening. Nick had 'called some people' and gotten them a good price, but Rusty's third of the cost was still at the top of the list.

Nick had also hired Rusty to come to his firm after school and help with a project to pack up archived files for storage. Despite the discussions kept in hoarse whispers while Nick and Sharon loaded the dishwasher and Rusty did his homework on the couch, he could still hear enough to know that Sharon wanted to pay for his costs of the dance, while Nick wanted him to work for it. They'd finally agreed Rusty would work while Sharon fronted the money. His first day was tomorrow.

She scribbled on her notepad. "Your suit is fine, you fit in one of Brice's dress shirts...Did you decide to use one of NIck's ties?"

"Yes."

"What color?" She peered at him over the top of her glasses.

He sighed. "The rust one. He thought that would be funny."

She smiled. "And it'll go nicely with your brown suit. Shoes..."

"I still don't see what's wrong with my Vans-"

The look was back on him. "And you don't want to wear any of Brice's- -"

"They're totally out of style," he groaned.

"So new shoes," she said briskly, adding that to the list. "Those will be an investment. You can use them for your college interviews- -"

He slumped in the chair and folded his arms. There was that college thing again.

She ignored his reaction. "Nick should have a pair of socks for you to borrow- -"

"Socks? What's wrong with my own socks?" he protested.

"No, just no, to white tube socks for a formal occasion," she said. "Nick has some brown ones- -"

"And a pair of his shorts?" Rusty said huffily.

Her laser gaze was back. "No one will be seeing your underwear."

"Of course not," he said casually. "But you weren't leaving any stone unturned."

She moved on. "Dinner...Have your friends discussed where you want to go?"

He shrugged. "Not really- -"

"You should. I'd say at least twenty-five dollars for each of you at a nice place like Figaro- -"

"We could go for burgers- -"

"A burger would still cost fifteen dollars. You might as well spend a bit more and treat her like a woman and not some little girl."

"First you're telling me to not get any ideas, now I'm supposed to treat Poppy like a _woman_," he pointed out.

"All right, a lady then," she said stiffly.

He recoiled. "A lady? This is going to be about holding doors and stuff?"

"I'll leave Nick to teach you all of that," she said primly.

He rolled his eyes again. "I do need you to teach me somethin'."

"Yes?" She sipped her wine and waited.

"There's gonna be like real dancing," he mumbled. "For the first hour."

"'Real dancing'?"

"Like, with steps and stuff." Rusty held his hands up as though waltzing. "And a space between you."

"Whose idea was this?" she asked, amused.

"Ol' Mrs. Graham on the planning committee thinks we should be little ladies and gentlemen," he sneered. This he waved his hand. "Forget it. The guys say they're gonna sit it out- -"

"So you should do it for sure. Women like brave men, right?"

"I guess," he admitted.

"And I won't have you throwing yourself in front of bullets, so..."

Sharon rose from the table and moved to the living room. "You will dance." She motioned for him to join her. "Get the end of this coffee table."

Despite giving off a groan, he rose and they cleared the furniture to create a small dance floor.

Sharon flipped her hair behind her shoulders. "All right, take my right hand- -"

Stiff, Rusty stood before her and held her right hand with his left.

"Now, put your other arm around my waist."

He blushed.

"Yes, around me, but keep your hand in the middle of my back."

Rusty jumped away. Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. "Not _me_. Poppy, or whomever you're dancing with. I am just a placeholder for your date."

He shook his head. "This is weird- -"

"Oh for goodness sakes!" she scolded. "Fine. You're at a wedding and you're dancing with the mother of the bride. More comfortable? Or her maiden aunt."

They were still arguing when Nick came through the door and tossed down his briefcase. "What's going on here?" he bellowed with the cheery manner of the man of the house. Rusty scowled.

Sharon returned to the table to snag her glass. After a sip, she told him, "I'm trying to teach Rusty how to dance. They're going to have real dancing at this formal."

"With no music?" Nick shed his suit jacket.

"We hadn't gotten that far," Sharon admitted.

Rooting in his briefcase, Nick pulled out his iPod. "Do you have some way to hook this up?" he asked Rusty.

The boy snatched it from his hand and went to the entertainment center. "Yeah, we have a port here..." The speakers came to life, giving off a hum.

"Let me find the right playlist," said Nick, joining Rusty.

"What, you have a playlist of dance music?" said Sharon over the rim of her glass. "Why does this not surprise me?"

He peered at her. "A playlist of music suitable for dancing, yes."

Then he shocked Rusty by putting his hand on the teen's shoulder and saying, "Come on, then. I'll lead."

"What the hell?" Rusty yelped.

Nick moved to the middle of the living room. "This is how all us boys at the St. Francis Parochial School learned. Father Wilbur pulled boy/girl buttons from a bag-I made a great Ginger back in the day."

Rusty just stared at him in horror.

"And we all turned out as great dancers."

Still, the young man remained rooted by the player.

"Okay, fine. Come on, Sharon." Nick motioned for Sharon to join him. "I hope you learn by watching, kid."

Rusty frowned. He'd been set up. And sure enough, with only a token shake of her head, Sharon put the glass and joined Nick, moving easily into his waiting arms.

"Play, please," said Nick.

"Huh?" Rusty looked down at the iPod. "Oh, right."

The notes filled the room, but Nick waited for the downbeat to start. "The man leads, but that doesn't mean march around, forcing the woman to match his stride- -"

"Remember, she's doing it backward and in heels," said Sharon.

Rusty slumped against that armchair, watching the couple slowly move together. It didn't look that hard; just going around and around...They weren't speaking, but he didn't like the way they were looking into each other's eyes.

Since Nick had arrived, Rusty had been trying to figure out what was going on with Sharon and her husband. His mother had brought a parade of men through their home for as long as he could remember. Or moved her and her little boy in with these men. A few times they'd shared apartments with women she claimed were her best friends, only to have some fight about a man send them off in the night.

So Rusty was accustomed to seeing his mother making out with her latest boyfriend on the couch, or hear sounds through the walls that he came to learn the hard way that meant sex was going on. Sometimes his Sharon sauntered around in little but her underwear, putting on an obvious display for the newest boyfriend, who usually ignored her if the game was on while Rusty writhed in discomfort.

This Sharon had not been behaving in such an overt manner. Not that he was listening at the door or anything, but he didn't hear a peep through the walls, and Nick looked like he'd be loud. But after the first week or so of her obvious irritation at Nick's presence, Rusty, with a sinking heart, had noticed a certain thawing in her attitude. She didn't shift away when Nick came to sit by her on the couch. Instead of changing into 'casual' clothing after work that covered every inch of her skin, she remained in her office blouses, with the buttons undone one button past Rusty's comfort level for Nick's seeking gaze.

The woman who'd touched Rusty exactly five times in four months pushed Nick around the tight kitchen like a large, friendly hound and didn't step away when his hand came to rest on her hip for a long moment before moving her aside.

And she giggled. Sharon had only given a short, sharp bark of a laugh before Nick arrived. The first time he heard the infectious, impulsive sound, he'd actually looked around the living room to see what schoolgirl had wandered into the condo without him noticing.

She was giggling now. "Hand up, Nicky Ray. You're setting a bad example for Rusty," she scolded, not seeming the least bit put out. His hand had slid down from the middle of her spine to rest at a very low point on the small of her back.

"You're getting this, kid? You look a million miles away," Nick said over her shoulder, using this as an excuse to move her closer to him.

"Yeah, I'm getting it," Rusty said shortly.

"Watch the feet. One, two, three, one, two, three," Nick instructed.

"Sure, got it." Rusty glanced over at the iPod. "Is this J-Lo's ex?"

Nick stepped away from Sharon. "You pain me, son. Yeah, that's him. You can still dance to his music." He motioned Rusty to come onto the dancefloor. "Your turn now. I'll even let you have my lady."

Setting his jaw, Rusty stormed over to Sharon, but her encouraging smile made him feel ashamed. He took her hand and put his arm around her waist.

"Why don't you let her lead until you get used to the steps?" Nick suggested. He went to the kitchen and fetched a beer from the refrigerator.

"You can lead," Sharon told Rusty. "You saw the steps, right?"

"Yes, I think so," he said, determined.

She nudged his knee with hers. "This foot first- -"

He listened to the music, waiting for that same beat that Nick had started on. Although stumbling and jerky, he managed to move them around the small living room for the rest of the tune.

When the song ended, he stepped back. "That was hard," he gasped.

"You'll be fine," Sharon assured him, making her way back to her glass of wine.

"Want that topped off?" Nick asked, opening the refrigerator door to offer the chilled bottle.

She gazed at him over the rim. "I don't think so. Mustn't get tipsy..." She looked at Rusty.

He flopped onto the couch. There was a dance going on, all right.

As though reading his mind, Nick said, "Don't forget the all important slow dance."

"Wasn't that what we were doing?" Rusty grumbled.

Nick came to lean against the dining room table beside Sharon. She watched him out of the corner of her eye.

"No, no, the _slow dance_," Nick said. "They turn the lights down low and you move in, arms around her waist...She puts her arms around your neck..." He shifted closer to Sharon and her mouth twitched as though she were trying not to laugh.

Rusty gulped. For a moment, he forget about Sharon and Nick and allowed his own conflicted emotions about Poppy to roil.

Nick held up his hand. "So you've got to decide, are you going to slow dance with Poppy. Because it means you're serious. You should never lead a woman on with the slow dance."

Both men looked at Sharon.

She stepped away from Nick. "It's getting late. Let's move these things back, and we can practice again tomorrow."

"Sure," Rusty said, getting up from the couch. Sounding ungracious even to his ears, he said, "Thanks, Nick."

"Glad to help." Nick put his beer bottle on the table and retrieved his briefcase.

"Going to stay up working?" Sharon asked.

"Yeah, got the last of the dispositions tomorrow," he said. "It's the final push."

"I remember that push well," she said, clearing her notepad away to give him more room.

"Do you have more homework?" she asked Rusty.

He stared at Nick. Was this guy playing Sharon? With a shake of his head, he said, "Yeah, just some reading. I'll do that in bed."

"All right then," she said, taking her empty glass to the sink and washing it. When finished, she said, "Good night, boys," and headed down the hall, sounding oddly content to Rusty.

He trailed after her, closing his bedroom door firmly.

~*~

The alarm rang and Sharon groaned. Nick reached over her and slammed his palm down on the snooze button. "There," he grumbled in her ear.

"Need to get up," she mumbled but remained snuggled into his body. She'd found herself waking in his arms for the past few days. Neither would acknowledge this, but disentangled and went about their morning routine. She considered his suggestion to remain right where she was and accepted it, resting her head in the crook of his neck and closing her eyes again.

She'd missed the smell of a man in the morning, even with the scratch his beard at her temple and the rumble at the back his throat like a big cat's purr that kept her from dropping off again.

His hands swept across her back, caressing her with the silk.

"Nice," she said softly.

"You feel nice," he corrected, his touch drifting lower until he reached the nightgown's hem at her hips. His hand stopped there.

She shifted closer to tangle their legs, finding what she was expecting-hardness in this moment of soft muscles and smooth skin.

"Slow dance," he murmured in her ear and she giggled.

"The snooze is set for ten minutes," she told him.

"I can turn it off," he suggested.

"I work best with time constraints," she said, pushing him over onto his back. His chuckle gave her a moving target as she clambered across his thighs to straddle him, grabbing handfuls of his Jets jersey for purchase.

His hands returned to her hips as she rose above him. His eyebrows raised in an unspoken question as he eased her nightgown upward. As an answer, she pushed up his jersey and leaned over to bite, not kiss, his skin.

He laughed again, a confident sound, as he swept her nightgown off. The room was dim in the dawn, the curtains drawn and the blinds closed, but his intense gaze still sought her pale body. Sharon had that stab of discomfort that came with every partner after a certain age. Although fleeting, he saw it on her face, felt it in the tightening of her thighs under his palms. This time his laugh was incredulous, saying more than any statement he could have made and she would have immediately protested.

Actions speak louder than words anyway...He leveraged off the mattress to find her breast with his mouth, his tongue gentle and warm in the room's chill. She rocked forward, pressing his length between her pelvis and his belly. Fully naked now, she had an advantage while he was still trapped in his shirt and boxers. His groan reverberated on her nipple, and she answered with a moan of her own.

"I love that little kitten sound," he gasped before moving to the other breast.

"I do not make kitten noises," she protested, gripping his hair to hold him close.

Suddenly mindful of the time, she tugged off his jersey and flung it aside before leading his head back to her breasts. She had no problem with his obvious fixation, but that clock was ticking...

She flopped off him and rooted in the bedside table's drawer, then triumphantly pulled out a box. But she peered blindly at the label. "Damn, haven't checked the expiration date on these," she muttered.

He lounged beside her, nibbling at her bare shoulder. "I'm a good boy-"

"I'm sure you are." She arched an eyebrow his way. "But have you been with good girls?"

"I'm saying I've keep my barriers up," he assured her, his kisses following her spine.

Tossing aside the box, she rolled onto her back. "I can get fresh ones after work," she mused, even as she reached for him, pulling his face down to meet hers in a kiss.

"Until then, wanna mess around?" he asked. Before she could answer verbally, he covered her mouth with his and she gave her response by pulling his weight over her, her legs falling open for his roaming hand.

Another ring cut through the desire fogging her senses- -

"Shit," he grumbled. "Your phone. Ignore it- -"

"It'll be the job," she scolded, wriggling out from under him.

Pushing her tangled hair from her eyes, she barked into the phone, "Captain Raydor."

Nick fell back into the pillows, watching her expression become grim as she listened to the caller.

With a sign, he heaved out of the bed and retrieved his shirt.

"I'll be there in thirty," she said and disconnected the call.

"Why do murders always happen in the night?" Nick asked.

"This murder happened days ago. It doesn't look like our vic was alive for long after her abduction." Sharon snagged her robe and once it was on, hurried to the closet.

"But you're going to keep it from the press?" he suggested shrewdly.

"We're going to try. But we still don't have much time. And there's the family to deal with- -" She was in the office already.

"I'll take the kid to school," Nick offered.

"Thanks," she said, focusing back to the bedroom for a moment. She nodded toward the bed. "Sorry- -"

"Not the first time," he reminded her. As she passed on the way to the bedroom, he snagged her arm and pulled her to him. "And won't be the last," he said, kissing her deeply for a brief, intense moment.

She cupped his rough cheek when they broke the kiss, then shook her head as if to clear it. When she staggered into the bathroom, she still heard his, "Until tonight," said under his breath.

~*~

Rusty peered into Nick's red Audi, but was surprised to see a woman at the wheel. She was in her thirties, but artfully dressed and made up to appear a decade younger. Only the hardness around her lips and eyelids revealed her real age. Long dark hair curled over her pushed up breasts, straining at her tight top's neckline.

"Nick asked if I could pick you up," she said with a flash of her professionally whitened teeth. "He's still tied up with another disposition."

Rusty was leery, but what danger could this woman be? As short as her skirt was, he doubted she could overpower him. He opened the door slowly.

She extended her slim hand after he took the passenger seat. "I'm Lola Morales. A senior associate at Higgins, Smythe and Raydor."

Rusty shook her hand quickly. "Hi. I'm the most junior associate at the firm, I guess."

Her smile didn't reach her dark eyes. "Yes, that's what I've been told."

She pulled away from the curb. "Do you like St. Joseph's?"

"It's okay," he mumbled.

"It's a great school," she said. "I should know. Their debating team always beat mine. I went to a public school," she clarified.

For some reason, Rusty felt as though he had to make excuses. "I've always gone to public schools. Sharon makes me go to this one."

"You're fortunate to have lucked into a great foster family."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," he said coldly. "There's got to be an easier way to score a good foster _mother_ than witnessing a serial killer dumping a body."

She started to speak, then forced on one of those stiff smiles again. "Here we are," she said, pulling into the parking garage at a downtown highrises.

Lola returned to her office as soon as she introduced Rusty to the down-to-earth office manager, Deb McBride. The short woman bustled down the hall away from the sleek public reception area and into one the file rooms, lined with cabinet drawers. Rusty listened to her instructions carefully and asked a few questions. Although he was sure more than one person in the firm assumed he was being given this job as 'the boss's kid', he wanted to show them that he wasn't Nick Raydor, all surface flash with nothing to back it up.

After cuing up his Nano, he started loading file folders into cardboard boxes. When he'd filled all the boxes available, he was surprised to check his phone and see two hours had gone by.

He was thirsty though. Deb had pointed out a break room on the way to the file room. He retraced his steps. After getting a soda, he went in search of the office manager to see where he could find more boxes. Although he still had the earplugs in, his music player had stopped.

So he recognized Nick's deep voice instantly. He was behind a half-closed door, talking to a woman- -Lola.

"We're going to need to schedule this Hendricks' woman to appear first. Her testimony is just the way we want to start. But I think this is all we do for today. I'll just work on the questions for a couple hours," he said, with the tone of winding things up.

"Yes, Nick. I'll contact her and schedule the day."

"Great."

Rusty lingered, somehow feeling as though something more would be said. There was an edge to Lola's voice.

He was rewarded.

"So Nick...I wanted to extend my offer again."

"What offer was that?" There was amusement in Nick's tone.

"To stay with me instead of...Her."

"It's my home. Why wouldn't I stay there?" The humor was gone and it was replaced by a coldness that made Rusty shiver.

Lola must have been used to his intimidating manner. "Because it'll probably lead to entanglements you may not want."

"I'll be the judge of that. But thanks for the concern." The dismissal was obvious to Rusty, but apparently not Lola.

"Listen, I realize you need to save money. Can't afford a hotel. My guest room bed is just as comfortable as the ones at the Westmark and don't include a sulky teenager or nagging wife."

Rusty was too struck by the 'can't afford a hotel' to be offended by what she said about him and Sharon. What the hell was going on? Then he looked up and down the hall. It was ominously quiet. Surely this many offices should be buzzing with activity and staff. And he'd been instructed to empty all the drawers, not just box up old files for archival storage as the job had been presented to him and Sharon.

Nick's words sharpened, making Rusty back away from the door. "Thanks again, Lola. I better call Sharon and ask her to pick the kid up when she's free."

Rusty pivoted so it would appear he was coming down the hall when Nick stuck his head out. "Oh, hey," said Nick cautiously

Tugging the earplug loose, Rusty feigned deafness. "Huh?"

"Could you call Sharon? I'm stuck here through dinner. But if she's tied up with her case, I can order some take-out for us."

"Yeah, sure. I'll call her right now," said Rusty, fishing his phone from his pocket. He hoped Nick didn't see the urgency in his shaking fingers as he pushed her number.

Although Nick Raydor was smoother than Gary, Rusty saw what was coming if he didn't intervene. He wasn't going to be left at the zoo again.


	6. Chapter 6

Sharon hadn't had a moment to sit down all day. She'd eaten her homemade sandwich standing before the whiteboard, reviewing what little evidence they had, looking for something new. As she paced before the board again, her feet and head ached, never a good combination. But for the first time in many years, she was looking forward to going home. It was no longer empty rooms and silence; it was a true home with Nick and Rusty waiting there...She smiled at that thought but then sensed that she was being watched.

Looking up, she caught Andy Flynn smiling back. "Needed that," he said, just loud enough for her to hear. As they ate their greasy dinner from takeout containers, the rest of the squad was still deep in discussion of possible avenues to pursue on the case.

She eased over to Flynn's desk. "Yes -" Her smile became nervous as she was closer to him. "It's been a long day."

His smile faded too. "Yeah." He started to shuffle through his notes.

"I meant to ask you, Lieutenant, if your family has been affected by the hurricane."

"My family?" He looked confused for a moment. "Oh, yes, my family back east-"

"Nick mentioned you had family in Queens. He's been on the phone a lot, checking on his family and his home."

"Nick."

She leaned on his desk. "If you need some time off-"

He turned his chair to face her. "Thanks, Captain. I appreciate the thought. My sisters..." His grin was warm again. "I've got six of 'em, and they fight like cats. Now they're six cats stuck together in one sack-better known as my Mom's house. She's thrilled to have everyone home again, but they're ready to kill each other."

Sharon gave a unsure laugh.

"I can't really help them out much at this point. I've been talkin' to them, and until the insurance claims get processed, they can't start repairs on their houses. But when they've got the money lined up, I'd like to go out and help-"

"Of course," Sharon said in a rush. "Just let me know when, and we'll arrange the leave."

He rose from his chair and she pushed off his desk to stand as well.

"Thanks for thinking of that...Sharon," he said, his voice low.

She'd been reaching out to give his shoulder a quick squeeze but now he was standing a bit closer than she expected. Instead she patted his arm awkwardly. Her phone rang in her pocket, saving her.

Her face lit when she saw the screen.

"Rusty's ready to go home?" asked Andy.

She answered it. "Yes, Rusty?" She nodded at Flynn.

"I'll wrap things up," he told her.

She smiled her thanks and moved to her office. She was already halfway home in her mind-after stopping at a CVS for some necessary items.

When she came out to give the squad a quick set of orders, her coat on and her purse slung over her arm, Buzz gave her bad news.

"Nancy Grace has the story, Captain. It's leading her show tonight."

"Well, Britni was a young blonde white woman," noted Sykes cynically.

Buzz set his laptop up for them to view the feed of the CNN program. The older blonde woman was already near tears as she quickly recapped what few details of Britni Collins' disappearance that had been released to the public. The on-air personality turned cold as she hammered on the LAPD to do more to find Britni.

"Oh fuck us," groaned Provenza, tossing the cold remnants of his hamburger into the styrofoam container on his desk.

"I couldn't have said it better myself, Lieutenant," Sharon said grimly. Her phone rang again. This time it was Taylor. She had a short, intense discussion with him before disconnecting.

The detectives stood, waiting to hear what she had to say.

"Six a.m., back here," she told them. "We'll start all over again."

They all mumbled in agreement as she hurried from the squad room.

~*~

Sharon gripped her steering wheel tightly, staring at the brightly lit entrance of the chain drugstore. She didn't need to go inside anymore.

"Thank you, Rusty, for telling me this."

Rusty shifted in his seat. Her reaction wasn't at all what he expected. His mother would have started cussing and crying, calling that other woman a bitch and a few worse things, then would have hugged him close, saying that Rusty was her little man and the only one she could count on in her life. This Sharon didn't make even a twitch in his direction; it was as though a cold glass wall was between their bodies.

He started to babble: "I know you're not married, married and it's not really that important to you, but I'm worried that I'm not gonna get paid-Poppy's really looking forward to the dance..."

"Don't worry, Rusty," said Sharon as she put the car in reverse. "You'll get your money. I'm good for it."

"I know you are," he whispered. "That's the only reason I brought it up."

She backed out the parking lot.

"Weren't you going to get something there?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I changed my mind."

"Okay," he said, turning to stare out the window at the passing traffic.

~*~

Nick came through the front door, put down his briefcase and hung up his overcoat. The condo was quiet and dim but then he noticed Sharon sitting at her desk before the glowing screen of her iPad.

He moved to the desk, keeping his voice low. "Waiting up for me?" he asked warmly.

She slowly raised her gaze. "Yes."

He loosened his tie, uncertain. That coldness coming off her was achingly familiar and definitely dangerous.

"Tough day with the case?" he suggested.

"Yes. I had to tell the victim's family that their daughter was dead and her killer has been taking their money under the guise that it's her," she said flatly.

"Sorry to hear that," said Nick, retrieving a bottle of beer from the kitchen. "Did you have dinner?"

"Yes." She turned off her iPad and went to the couch.

Nick noticed there was no plate of leftovers waiting for him in the refrigerator. He'd had something while still at the office, but that wasn't like Sharon. Wary, he joined her in the living room.

She looked at him as he settled on the other end of the couch. "Heard anything more about the damage to your co-op?" she asked, her tone casual.

"Yeah, the building manager's let me know how much it's all going to cost," he said, shaking his head.

"A lot?"

He shrugged. "Not anything I'm worried about."

"Won't it be difficult to sell with the current damage? You've already reduced the price twice, I've seen," she said, her pale gaze level.

He glanced over at the desk where her iPad lay. Finally he said, "My realtor thinks the upside of the storm is there'll be a lot of people looking for a new place. It's just some water damage and broken windows. As soon as the building super can get the water out of the basement and the boiler going again, the unit can be shown again."

"So we're only going to lose $100,000 on the sale?" Sharon raised an eyebrow.

He cleared his throat. "It'll be closer to $200,000 when all the fees are paid."

"And you still owe the monthly co-op dues while it's on the market...What are they again? $10,000 a month?"

He winced. "Yeah."

"Not using that health club while you're here..." she mused.

"Listen, Sharon, we don't need to go over this again. You bought the home that worked for you, I bought the one I needed for my business-"

"My home didn't cost millions-" She took a deep breath and stopped herself from starting this fight again. She had no interest in going over that well-trod ground.

"Speaking of your business," she said. "So...Your firm is going bankrupt."

"Been doing some reading this evening," he said, nodding toward her desk.

"When were you going to mention any of this to me?" she asked. "After you'd entwined your life with mine again? Got your name on any custody paperwork for Rusty so I'd be stuck with your bills, _again_?"

She didn't rise from the couch as he jumped up and loomed over her. "How the hell can you say that? You have no idea what I've been going through-"

"No, no I don't, Nick. As usual, you're keeping me in the dark on yet another financial mess you've gotten into-"

"Why the hell should I tell you?" he fumed. "Marriage? What marriage? I'm this convenient dick for you. I can be this bastard you can play the martyr of, or..." His angry gaze raked over her. "Or, I can literally be a dick for you to fuck and send on my way."

She immediately looked toward Rusty's room.

"Yeah, wouldn't want him to know you're no better than his real mother. Just keeping a man around for money or sex."

Now she hopped up, going nose to nose with him. "Let's keep our personal relationship out of this-"

"No problem." He put his hands on his hips. "I have twenty years of experience with that, remember?"

"This is why this case is so damn important? All in, one more time," she sneered.

"As a matter of fact, yes." He raked his fingers through his hair. "I don't know if you noticed, Sharon, but it's not just my firm going under. A lot of big New York firms have hit the wall in this economy. Any recovery's coming too late for us. Not enough clients who can afford five hundred dollars an hour and our retainers, not enough people with millions to sue. And yet we've got the offices full, contracts for the associates-"

She laughed.

"Glad I can keep you entertained," he said bitterly.

"Just imagining all of you suing each other for that last piece of the pie," she said, equally sharp.

"Ted and I have dissolved as much as we can at this time. I'm personally litigating this case because there's no one else left with the necessary court experience in the L.A. office. At least I still had my California law license; Ted's only taken the bar in the east."

She looked concerned. "When's the last time you argued a case before a jury?"

He waved his hand. "Don't worry. I'll win this. It's getting the money we need-"

"How much do _we_ need, Nick?" she asked, feeling that familiar dread.

He blew out a long breath. "I need about four million to get out of the bankruptcy without getting sued by our associates. If I can cover the loss on my place, that'll be a wash. If everything breaks my way, I can get the half a million we lost on the sale of the Pasadena house and the million you should have had in your retirement back to you."

"Pretty confident that you're going to net three million to give me half," she noted.

"You're getting every penny I can clear," he said, staring her down. "I'll be fine. I always am."

She folded her arms and refrained from pointing out that every time he offered her everything, she ended up with nothing. All she'd ever wanted was a family, a nice home, and a stable future. Nick wanted all that, but gilded with gold. A partnership in a law firm wasn't enough, it had had to be one of the best firms in the country with offices on both coasts. He'd talked her into withdrawing every penny she'd put into her retirement and to mortgage their house to buy into Higgins and Smythe and add the Raydor. He'd promised her that money would be doubled within the decade and safely returned. But there'd been a few other drains on their finances before that could happen.

"But before writing me that check, are you going to take that money to Vegas and try to double it?" she asked contemptuously.

Nick's face darkened. "Our problems weren't from a single trip to Vegas, Sharon. I didn't lose it all in one night. There were lots of years, lots of crises, medical bills-"

She stepped close again. "Don't you dare dismiss our dead children as _medical bills_-"

He held up his hands. "You know that's not how I intended it-"

Wrapped her arms tightly around her middle, she turned away. Yes, this was her favorite hiding place when she needed to keep him at arm's length. The dream of the minivan filled with children had died one miscarriage at a time. The final blow was Heather's tiny casket being lowered into a grave. Sharon had traded the van in for a Toyota Camry sedan and she'd given up...Given up much more than the want of a larger family. With their medical bills now doubled as gambling debts, she'd given up on her marriage too.

As though he was reading her mind, Nick came beside her to speak in her ear. "The gambling wasn't about winning and losing money, Sharon. I was suffering too, you know. We'd lost so much; I had to feel as though I could do some winning for us-" His hand touched her back lightly, just enough cause her skin to rise in goosebumps. "I've gotten treatment for my addiction. I don't go to the casinos anymore-"

She looked into his beseeching eyes. "But you've been gambling all along, Nick. Can't you see that? Why couldn't you have just been honest with me?" With horror, she heard the tears in her voice, but had to keep going. "Just called me up and admitted you were in trouble and needed my help. How hard would that have been? Instead, you've been hiding your cards, just like you always do."

Rusty had been trying to read and not listen to the fight raging in the living room. Words rung through the walls like the tolling of a bell: dead children.

Tossing his book aside, he had rolled onto his stomach and put a pillow over his head. He hated fights-

"Just throw him out," he hissed. That's what his mother would do with her boyfriends...And then take the bastard back, again and again, before the guy was finally replaced or just gone one day. Rusty had finally gotten good at acting as though he was thrilled to meet the new man lounging on the couch.

...At least it sounded as though Nick had paid for half of this condo. His mother's boyfriends rarely had jobs, and if they did, there was never enough money, between the crack pipes, liquor bottles, and runs out the Indian casinos in the desert. Any man who gave Sharon Beck money only stayed an hour or two and spent the whole time in the bedroom.

He repeated his mother's words in his deepening male voice, "Men only want one thing, Rusty."

A man's hands on his body, holding him down, caressing him, scaring him, arousing him despite the hate and fear and loathing...Having to pretend he enjoyed it...He had enjoyed it.

He writhed on his mattress which only aroused him more. He hated this need-he needed release.

He tried to think about Poppy instead. She was everything not male.

Her thin arms without muscles and strength: "Rusty, open my soda for me; I can't get the top off," she'd whined, making him feel strong and dominate with just a twist of his wrist and the hiss of carbonation.

Her narrow face with the almond, dark eyes watching him, but always dropping when he met her look; no seething gaze that telegraphed some man's perversity.

Her curtain of straight hair, the streaks of bright blue among the black strands, moving as if another living part of her body, catching his attention again and again. Not the grotesque mushrooms of men's bald heads buried in his lap...

Rusty shuddered and retched, frantically searching for his garbage can.

Deep breathes calmed his roiling stomach. He forced himself to hear Poppy's chatter in his head, blocking out all other thoughts.

"Your mother looks as old as mine-"

"She's not my mother. I guess she's my foster mom-"

"Oh, that's cool, 'cause I'm adopted myself. Four boys and they finally gave up and got me from China. My birth mother put me in a trashcan, can you imagine?"

"Mine left me at the zoo-"

"The zoo? Boy, maybe she thought you were a little animal-"

"I don't know-"

"Tiger? Monkey? Warthog? I'm born in the year of the pig; what about you?"

"I dunno-"

"We can look it up. Do you have internet on your phone?"

"No, Sharon doesn't want me to get online too much-"

"My parents watch me like a hawk too. And six brothers! It's hopeless! Do you have a Facebook account?"

"No-"

"Too bad, you could friend me-"

"I could ask Sharon-"

"Oh, it's all just a big popularity contest. I don't want you to think I just want to pump up my friends numbers. I'd like to be your real friend, Rusty-"

On and on she chattered, and Rusty didn't mind one bit. There was something very restful about sitting beside her and hearing her talk, like the birds chirping in the trees outside his bedroom window-a cheerful sound.

Watching her mouth move as she talked; her plump lips looked so soft...Wonder what it would be like to kiss her...

Not the hard mouths on his, tongues pushing deep between his teeth, sucking on him so hard that tears poured from his eyes.

He stumbled off the bed, unable to stand upright with his erection. Crabwalking to his bathroom across the hall, he was grateful that Nick and Sharon were occupied with their fight and didn't see his undignified shuffle.

He quickly turned on the shower to hide the sound as he threw up in the toilet. If only he could empty his stomach of the past.

Standing on shaking legs, he stripped and stood under the cool water. He washed out his mouth with the spray. The water finally warmed and he came slowly back into his body. He had to resolve this-he couldn't go around with a tent in his jeans all day.

Hating himself, he allowed the visuals to come, the grotesque violations which always disgusted and excited him at the same time. Even as his hand moved mechanically, he forced new images into his mind. Stroking the smooth, hairless skin of Poppy's arm, giving her comfort after a loss in a chess match; the pink of her tongue grasped in her small teeth as she looked over the board; the warmth of her breath on his ear as she leaned close to suggest a move in a whisper, "Rook to E-54."

Leaning on the wall, he gasped his release silently.

"Fuck me," he mumbled as he lathered his hands with soap. Now he'd just used Poppy. He was no better than his former johns.

The frantic thoughts began again. He just needed to get through this dance, because once he made a promise, he wouldn't break it, and then he'd never date another woman again. He'd just stay in his bedroom forever and ever and play chess online until he died.

He stepped out of the shower and toweled off. Assuming Nick didn't con Sharon out of the condo...And if Sharon wanted Rusty to stay after how he had hurt her in his rush to preserve their fragile home life. He wiped tears from his eyes and avoided looking in the mirror. Why couldn't she see that men were nothing but bad news? Couldn't he be enough to make her happy?

Already knowing the answer to that question, he shuffled back to his bedroom, not even hearing the continuing fight.

"I can't understand how I allowed myself to believe you, again!" Sharon gripped her hair so tightly that her knuckles went white. "My God, what's wrong with me?"

Nick opened his mouth and she held up her shaking hand to stop him. "Don't you dare say whatever you were going to say. I was asking myself, not you."

She heard Rusty's bedroom door close. A shower, washing all this off, suddenly seemed like a really good idea. Without another word, she stormed off to her bedroom.

The boiling hot water felt great. She scrubbed her skin raw. The shower finally ran cool and she pulled on her robe and wrapped her damp hair in a towel. When she stepped out of the bathroom, Nick had his suitcase on the bed and was filling it.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her tone deadly calm as she was in control of her emotions again.

"I assume you want me out of here," he said, just as cold.

She moved between him and the bureau. "Oh no, you're not going anywhere," she said. "We need every penny out of this deal. Not going to waste any money on a hotel at this point."

"There's always staying with Lola," he pointed out.

"I can't afford to make a settlement with your next wife either." She nodded at the suitcase. "Put your stuff back. You're staying. I've made my last investment with you."

"Sharon, there's nothing going on with her-"

She ignored him. "Please get ready for bed or move it out to the living room. I need to be back at the office by 6 a.m."

She re-entered the bathroom and closed the door. He stared at it for a long time, then slowly started to unpack.


	7. Chapter 7

"I can't tell what gear I'm in," Rusty complained, grinding the Audi's stickshift.

"Go all the way to your left; that's first," Nick said levelly, pushing the clutch back in while the boy fumbled with the gears.

"Why can't I sit in the driver's seat? Now I'm going to learn the gears backwards."

"You can't learn the clutch and the gears at the same time. Once you've got the shifting down, you can work the clutch-"

"And the gears too?"

"Nope," said Nick, "Just the clutch. Only when I'm completely confident that you're ready will I let you have control of this car. This is a rental, after all."

"Say, you're giving this story that you're living hand to mouth," said Rusty. "But you've rented this macked out car-"

"Used my miles. As soon as this case is done, I won't be making any long-distance flights. Might as well get the best ride for my last one," Nick said smoothly. "Try again." He pushed the clutch in.

Rusty yanked his hand back from the shift and crossed his arms tightly. "Screw this!" he growled.

Nick put his foot on the brake and waited with the engine idling. They were in a empty parking lot, practicing driving. Rusty had expected Nick to conveniently forget that he was going to teach the boy how to drive.

But as promised, Nick had taken Rusty to the DMV the day after the fight with Sharon. He treated the young man with cool detachment, while still ferrying him to and from school and continuing to have Rusty work at his firm. He spoke to Rusty only when necessary, his gaze not quite meeting Rusty's. Gone were the offers to play basketball. Now Nick went down to the courts every evening alone and returned dripping in sweat, walking past Rusty and Sharon at the dinner table to take a shower. Rusty was used to his mother's boyfriends teasing him, rough-housing, eventually beating him up, all to show him who was the top dog in the house. This coldness was unfamiliar and disconcerting.

Rusty found himself perversely irritated that Nick appeared to be punishing Sharon as well as him, being equally polite but remote. That bastard could treat him like shit, but not her.

He glared over at Nick.

"If you don't want to learn, we can go home," Nick said, sounding bored.

"I want you to fucking go away," Rusty burst out.

"Well, that's obvious." Nick placed his hand on the gear shift but put it in neutral.

Rusty just set his jaw and didn't say a word.

"Don't worry, kid, I'll clear off soon enough-"

"Sure about that? I've lived on the streets. It's no fun. Can't you see you doin' it," Rusty sneered, looking the older man over.

"I always land on my feet," Nick said. That dangerous edge was back and Rusty held himself tightly.

"Let me guess," said Nick. "You did it to protect Sharon."

"Did what?" Rusty stared across the parking lot to the Outback Steakhouse. The dinner crowd would be showing up soon.

Nick chuckled. "Don't waste our time, kid. You snooped at a door, then hot-footed it to Sharon to spill it."

"You were using her-"

Nick went on as though Rusty hadn't said a thing. "You did it for her, huh? To help her see the light?"

Pursing his lips, Rusty shook his head.

Nick's rough voice became smooth and hypnotic. "You found the most sensitive way to let her down gently?" He smirked when Rusty quickly licked his lips. "I didn't think so. Not from the hurt I saw in her."

Rusty's head snapped around. "Don't make this my fault-"

Nick held up his hand. "Don't bullshit a bullshitter. You were scared that you were gonna lose this cushy little joint you've fallen into, so you beat her down, 'cause getting rid of me leaves it all for you-"

Rusty swung at Nick's head, even as he knew there was no way he could get off a clean shot in the confines of the low-slung coupe. Sure enough, Nick grabbed his fist and held it securely. He kept talking even though they weren't wrestling in the front seat of a car. "I warned you once, kid. Don't hurt her. And you did."

"I didn't hurt her! You did! You son of a bitch and your money-grubbing-I'll never hurt her!"

"Show me." Nick twisted in his seat and leaned over to get in Rusty's face. "You show me that you care about her, truly, not just as some place to hide out until somethin' else comes along-"

Tossing his hair from his eyes, Rusty glared right back. "Like you always have?"

Nick just grinned. "Twenty years and I'm still here. Nothin' better has ever come along."

He released the boy and put the car in gear again, starting to drive out of the lot. "Just to let you know, I'm not going anywhere until you show me that you'll protect Sharon, not use her-"

"Me use her! That's a good one!" blustered Rusty. "From you, the big user!"

"I'm talkin' about you, not me," Nick said coolly.

Rusty flopped back in his seat. "I'm just thinking about what Sharon would say if she heard you saying she needs some man to protect her."

"Gonna tattle again?" Nick raised his eyebrows. "Everyone needs someone looking out for them, Rusty. That's one of the reasons Sharon stays married to me-"

"What good are you doing her, living across the country and running up bills?"

"I meant she protects me." Nick shifted easily through the gears, making the young man's teeth grind.

Rusty didn't look at him the whole drive home, angry comebacks firing through his mind ten minutes too late. He replayed how he'd told Sharon what he'd overheard. There had been concern in his voice, but he'd made sure he filled in all the blanks. Lola's beauty and sexiness; her suggestions. Perhaps he'd left out the part about a guest room; just had said she invited Nick to live with her. He didn't think the part about the money would play as well, but when he saw the distress in Sharon's eyes, he'd put out everything he'd heard.

Because he cared. Sometimes you had to hurt people so they'd see the truth. This Nick guy obviously knew how to push her buttons, and Rusty had had to push them even harder. His lips started to quiver at the effort to not curse or cry-he couldn't decide which.

Sharon was at home, dinner started. "How'd it go?" she asked, but she didn't look up from the stir-fry she was preparing.

Rusty tossed down his backpack. "Just great," he said, edgy.

What really pissed him off was how Sharon was treating him like shit too. He expected some damn gratitude at the least and Nick gone, but he had neither. He stormed off to his room.

When hunger finally brought him out again, Sharon was already eating at the table. There was no sign of Nick.

Rusty filled his plate and flopped down across from Sharon. She waved a note at him. "The school sent this."

Nick came out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel on his damp hair. He moved to the kitchen, put the remaining food on his plate and sat the far end of the table like a condemned prisoner.

Sharon ignored him and addressed Rusty. "I guess I need to go over it with you. Frankly, it's cracking me up." Finally there was some laughter in her voice and Rusty quickly read the notice from his school.

Rusty snorted. "What the hell?"

"Let me see," Nick said, startling both of them. Rusty handed it to him.

Adjusting his glasses, Nick read it aloud.

"Rules to be followed for the dance. Failure to comply will result in the student/s being asked to wait in the 'dance room' and parents will be called to immediately remove the student/s."

Blinking in surprise, he read on. "Number one: no body parts other than students' feet on the ground."

He tipped his head. "What the hell does that mean?" He looked at Rusty, askance. "Has breakdancing come back in?"

"Yeah, it has, but I think they mean like wiggling around on the floor," said Rusty after gulping his milk.

"What girl would want to do that?" asked Sharon practically. "After all the money for the dress!"

Rusty shrugged.

Nick continued. "Students must be upright at all times. No bending at the waist." He leaned back in his chair. "Okay, that I get."

"I bet you do." Sharon sipped her wine and rolled her eyes.

Ignoring her, Nick read the next item. "Students may not pick up or lift another student."

"I can't see Rusty as a Solid Gold dancer," said Sharon, and Nick joined her in laughing.

"What does that mean?" Rusty asked suspiciously, making the adults laugh longer.

"Before your time," Nick said. He peered at the list again. "A student may not wrap his/her legs around another student."

"Oh, that's just tacky," Sharon said with a sniff, but the two men looked sad.

"Students' hands may only be in appropriate locations on other students' bodies."

"You already went over that," Rusty told Sharon.

"But it will be Poppy, not me," Sharon reminded him.

"Last one. Students may not grind on one another in a sexual manner." Nick adjusted his glasses again. "Wow, that's getting right to the point. The priests are being pretty blunt."

"Something tells me the sisters wrote it," Sharon said with a smirk.

She fluttered her fingers at Nick. "Give it over. I have to sign it and Rusty will return exchange it for his tickets."

"That's crazy," said Nick even as he handed her the notice. "You should appeal this, Rusty. You are young adults, not sex-crazed animals."

Sharon unsuccessfully stifled another laugh.

Nick joined her, his rich chuckle warm. Seeing his relief that she finally responded to him, her amusement stopped. Rising from the table, she took her plate to the sink.

Leaning back in his chair, Nick watched her, but spoke to Rusty. "Got everything for the dance, kid?"

"Yes, I'm ready," Rusty said, but his voice was filled with dread.

Nick looked at him. "You'll be fine-you'll be more than fine. You'll have a great time."

Rusty jumped up, clearing his dishes quickly. Seeing that moment was gone, Nick returned to eating his dinner, his face glum.

~*~

Rusty couldn't even find any peace at school. His little clique of friends were going crazy with plans for the dance. He tried talk the other guys into doing the formal dance, even offering to have Sharon teach them as well, telling himself she'd do it, but the other young men were too shy. He found his temper getting shorter and shorter, even losing patience with Poppy's excitement.

As they sat in the outdoor lunch area, she reached over and flicked his bangs. "I like, totally love your hair, Rusty-"

He gritted his teeth. "But-"

She snatched back her hand. "It's not me..."

He folded his arms and stared across the yard broodingly.

"My mom got this photographer-"

"I thought they took our picture at at the dance," said Rusty with a groan. He'd added that cost onto the budget after Sharon told him that he _must_ have them done. He'd thought a picture taken on his phone would be enough...

"He's a neighbor, goes to our church too, but he's really good," said Poppy, giving a nervous smile. "My mom's really excited about this dance-"

"Then why doesn't she go to the dance with you and I'll just stay home watch TV!"

Poppy started to cry, a soft sound, hiccups of tears. _Why didn't Sharon cry?_ His mother would sob ragged torrents of sound and water, and now Poppy...

He balled up his fists and shoved them in his eyes, blocking out Poppy's blotchy face and the stares of the other students. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he chanted. "Fine, we'll have our picture taken-"

Poppy immediately stopped crying and delicately wiped her eyes on her sweater sleeve. "There's something else-"

He flopped his head over to rest on the table. "Yeah?"

"My mom and dad want to meet your mom...I mean your foster mom."

he popped back upright. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

The nervous smile was back. "I think-they haven't said a word, I swear! But I think they think you might be trouble or something. They keep asking me why you're in foster care and like, what happened to your family, and they heard about you beating up those guys, and how you'd claimed to be in the witness protection program and even when I told them your mom-I mean, your foster mom, is a cop, that seemed to make it worse-"

He cut her off. "Okay, sure. Sharon will drive me to your house. We'll take the pictures. The limo can meet us there. It'll save an hour on the fee anyway."

Poppy's mouth gathered in a disapproving knot at the mention of money, but then she smiled happily for the first time since they'd sat down to lunch. "Sweet, Rusty." She hopped up from her chair, and to his shock, gave him a quick kiss at the corner of his mouth. "Gotta go to Calc early. I'll see you later?"

"Sure," he mumbled, feeling emotionally exhausted.

So when he heard Sam Weaver had some weed that he was offering around, Rusty asked him for a joint, promising he'd do the stoner's math homework that week.

He just needed to take the edge off, he told himself, ignoring all the times he'd been disgusted by his mother and her boyfriends smoking themselves into oblivion-at least he knew the shit worked.

Knowing better than to try smoking in the condo, he lurked behind the tennis courts to quickly puff through the joint. Sharon had called, saying she'd be at least two more hours, so there was time for his eyes to clear up; Nick ignored him anyway.

And then Nick was standing right behind him. "Jeez, kid, now this?"

Rusty quickly ground out the lit end in his fingertips. "Fuck off, Nick."

"See, that shit does rot your brain." His basketball tucked under his arm, Nick leaned on the wall beside Rusty. "That's the best you could come up with?"

"You're gonna tell Sharon." Rusty didn't make it a question.

Nick raised his eyebrows. "No."

"Why not?" Rusty asked, combative.

"You want me to? Is that your thing? Do shitty things that make her feel like she's doing a crappy job with you, then she dumps you back in the system-" Rusty's heart tightened at those words. "-and then you can cry yourself to sleep, poor lil' Rusty, no one loves you."

Nick stood up and glared down at the boy. "No, I'm gonna assume this is a one time thing, or an every now and then thing. You don't have the money. And I've got no interest in getting into some tattletale triangle with you and Sharon. But if I start seeing money disappearing-"

Rusty stormed away, leaving Nick back by the courts. He had nowhere to hide anymore, it seemed.

Back in the condo, he secreted the half-smoked joint in the back of his closet. While rooting for a good hiding place, he found his old chess set. Since coming to live with Sharon, he'd played on the computers or the sets at school.

Sitting on the bed, he turned the wooden case in his hands. It had been his faithful friend for years-the dark years. He played alone most of that time, honing his skills and practicing the moves he'd found in books. Now back in a chess club, it had taken some work to play against another person again. But as exhilarating as it was to not know what his opponent's move would be, he suddenly missed the tranquility of paying alone.

Moving to the living room, he set the chess board up on the corner of the desk, and made a few moves before Nick called him to dinner.

Nick didn't seem to notice the board, but when Rusty got home from school the next day, a rook had been moved.

"Son of a bitch," he growled, glaring at the door that Nick had just closed behind himself on the way out to the basketball court. Raising his hand, Rusty was ready to sweep the pieces from the board.

Then he saw the perfect move. He moved his pawn, and stepped back from the board.

When he came out of the bathroom, the rook had escaped his trap. That was all right, he'd been playing forward a couple of moves while showering. But he only made one and went to his room, closing the door firmly.

Each day dragged, but the dance drew closer. He just wanted it done. At least he had the chess match to look forward to as a distraction.

On the day of the dance, Nick brought him home from school and Rusty immediately moved to the board to see where they were at. Nick was down to his queen, a rook, and a bishop. Although Rusty had more men left, he knew it wasn't numbers that matter, but the queen.

Instead of going to the bedroom, Nick pulled up a chair at the board as well .

He made no move yet. "Still worried about the dance?" he asked.

"Scared shitless," said Rusty tonelessly.

Nick flashed a grin under his thick mustache. "Good."

Rusty moved his bishop forward, advancing on Nick's white queen. "Piss off."

Nick just laughed and moved his rook, leaving his queen exposed. In a few brutal moves, Rusty had him in checkmate.

Lifting his hands in rueful defeat, Nick only laughed again.

Rusty hissed at him: "You didn't have to let me win, you know. I'm not a little kid."

"I didn't." Nick watched the younger man from under his heavy eyelids. "Just not that important to win anymore."

"Don't you have a trial coming up?" Rusty sneered, leaning forward in his chair.

Nick chuckled. "Piss off."

He glanced at the wall clock. "You better get in the shower."

With a shaky sigh, Rusty pushed up from the desk. "Yeah, I guess so."

"You're gonna have a great time." Nick sounded worried.

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Rusty, shuffling off to his bedroom.

Sharon came through the front door, shedding her purse and coat frantically. "I'm here, I'm here," she called out.

Nick looked up from the couch. "The kid's getting dressed."

She fell onto the couch beside him. "Thank God, I'm not late. I hate when people are late."

"He'd understand. That case is all over the news still. And I could have taken him-"

She glared through her glasses. "No, I'm taking him to Poppy's house."

Nick held up his hands. "Okay, okay. Just offering to help-"

Kicking off her pumps, Sharon rolled her eyes. "Your help...For some reason, those words strike terror in my heart-"

"Nothing scares you, baby," Nick said, shifting closer to her on the couch.

"Only that which I cannot control, and you, Nicky Ray, definitely fall under the unable to control column."

He gave her a shocked expression and she didn't believe it for one minute. She hopped up and loomed over her husband. "Let me repeat my point from our rather long, emotional discussion," she said slowly, enunciating every syllable.

"I just can't afford you anymore, Nick Raydor. I've got to take care of my future, and be able to help our kids if necessary. And now there's another one to get through college..."

She turned away and stared out the sliding glass door at the lights of the houses in the hills twinkling in the darkening dusk.

His rough chuckle tickled at her spine. "Yep, you're hard as a rock, Sharon Raydor."

Rusty stuck his head out of his bedroom door. "Nick! I need help with my tie!"

Nick heaved up from the couch. "I am needed by someone," he said like a martyr.

Sharon just waved her hand at his retreating back.

Nick ducked into the bathroom first, then entered Rusty's bedroom.

Rusty was fussing before his mirror with the tie, now wrinkled and creased.

"Hey, hey, that tie costs three hundred dollars, kid," protested Nick.

Rusty tossed down the ends. "Buzz showed me how to do a tie before, but I can't remember the last part-"

Nick turned the young man around and quickly knotted the tie. "Take a breath, kid."

"I am calm!" Rusty squeaked, struggling away and flopping down on the end of the bed. He fumbled on the floor for his new shoes.

"I can see that." Nick looked toward the ajar door. Sharon didn't appear to be lurking...yet.

He sauntered over. "Here," he said shortly, holding out something in his big hand.

"Condoms?" Rusty gasped. "Listen, nothing's gonna happen-"

"A lot of kids say that," said Nick, pressing them into Rusty's palm. "I've said it-"

"You knocked some girl up?"

"I've had some close calls, that's all I'm saying." Nick pulled Rusty upright and straightened his suit jacket. "You think you know what's going to happen, and then somethin' else happens."

Rusty shook his head stubbornly. "I won't mess around with Poppy."

"All right," said Nick. "But if you hear a friend talkin' about going under the bleachers-"

Rusty looked confused.

"-Do _their_ parents a favor and slip the guy one of those rubbers."

"In front of the priest?"

Draping his arm around Rusty's shoulders, Nick escorted him from the bedroom. "Listen, funny guy, you'll see who'll be laughing when you've got some girl saying she's late..."

"Does this count as one of those man to man chats, where you explain the birds and the bees to me?" Rusty said, trying to shrug away Nick's arm.

Nick got the last word before he pushed Rusty out to face Sharon: "Would you rather that Sharon did it?"

"Don't you look handsome," said Sharon, clapping her hands together at the sight of Rusty in his suit.

"Can we go?" Rusty asked breathlessly. "I don't want to be late."

Sharon tried to follow the chattering from Poppy's mother, Alice Moore, as the other woman fluttered around her living room. Her husband, Dave, remained in his recliner with a resigned expression on his face. Rusty shifted from foot to foot beside her.

"Who would guess we'd been on the earthquake relief community together in '96! Our religious community can feel so large sometimes-"

"Indeed," Sharon managed to fit in.

Alice changed subjects. "I'm sure Poppy's told you-"

Sharon tried to cut in: "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting Poppy yet. I'm so looking forward-"

"I had four boys. I love them dearly." Alice shot a glance at Dave. "But I'd always dreamed of a little girl, for nights just like tonight."

Sharon gave her a pained smile. "Yes, I have a daughter. I understand-"

Alice suddenly gasped, causing all of them to jump. "Poppy!" she cried out, rushing to the stairs. They trailed after her.

The young woman waited partway down the steps, wavering on her high heels, unsure.

"If only Adam who were here," said Alice. "To get this picture." She glared at Dave. "Where is he?"

Dave shrugged, but didn't reply.

"You can come down the stairs again when he gets here," decided Alice.

"Mom," groaned Poppy. "Chill."

She flounced the rest of the way down and Sharon did have to admit she was adorable. She wore a blue gown which matched the streaks in her long hair. Strands had been swept up in a knot at the top of her head, and star pins glistened in the dark strands.

Sharon gave Rusty a slight nudge and he stepped forward. "You look great," he said, taking Poppy's hand.

Alice sobbed. "That would have been another great picture!"

Forcing down a giggle, Sharon could only nod.

The doorbell rang. Dave opened it.

"Sorry I'm late, Alice," a young man called over Dave's shoulder. "Let me just set up the camera-"

Rusty turned to stand beside Poppy. In a sudden flash, his vision went white, then black.

Adam looked equally shocked, then he smiled warmly.

Alice pulled the photographer forward. "Adam Fetter, this is Rusty, Poppy's date."

"Nice to meet you, Rusty. This must be the best night of your life."

Rusty could barely nod, paralyzed in place. He'd actually believed he could escape his past. Living in Sharon's home, going to a nice school, starting to think about college, or thinking that he could have a sweet girlfriend like Poppy...None of that mattered.

Like in a nightmare, he took Adam's extended hand. In the man's tightening grip, Rusty felt any future being squeezed away.


	8. Chapter 8

"As soon as Big Bear opens, we'll be going up to our cabin on the weekends-would you like to come with us? I'm sure my parents would be fine with it. There's a whole boys bunk room and Aaron and Gary won't be coming so there's plenty of space-" Poppy had to slow down for a breath.

Rusty pushed his pasta around on his plate. "I don't know how to ski."

"Ski? I snowboard!" She gave him a light punch in the arm.

Poppy's friend Baylee giggled and watched Rusty over the top of her water glass, her gaze curious.

"I don't snowboard either." Rusty couldn't eat another bite; he shoved his plate away.

Poppy squeezed his arm. "I'll teach you!"

Rusty's voice had an edge. "I don't have any clothes for the snow."

Poppy didn't see his agitation. "My brothers have tons of old clothes. We can find you something."

"Maybe I don't want to go!" he burst out.

The other couples at the table went still.

Poppy blinked at him owlishly. "Fine," she said crispy and turned to talk to the boy sitting beside her.

Rusty slumped in his chair and tore the corner off his roll, but just squished the piece until it because a ball of dough.

Without looking at him, Poppy sought and found his free hand to give it a squeeze. He clutched it back, but then reached into his other pocket and found the note there.

When Adam had shaken his hand goodbye, saying that the pictures would be ready in a few days, the photographer had passed a folded slip of paper into Rusty's palm.

Rusty didn't know how he'd managed to smile for the photographer and keep his hand for shaking as he put his arm around Poppy's waist at Adam's direction. Perhaps because he'd met Sharon's gaze over Adam's shoulder. He'd never seen her look that happy; it helped him put on a good performance.

But he had experience, didn't he?

Adam hadn't been like the other johns. Rusty had almost believed Adam at first when he'd first met the young man and he said that he just wanted to take artistic nude photographs. He didn't want to have anything done to him, or to do anything to the boys. He wanted to watch and take pictures. In a warm, well-lit hotel room...No car's back seat, or down on his knees in a urine-soaked alley-seemed like a good gig to Rusty.

Perhaps that had been the problem. As awful as it had been to work as a street hustler, Rusty quickly learned to simply zone out during the acts. But Adam took him to classy hotels, told him to drink from the mini bar while the photographer adjusted his lights and scrims. Then Rusty would strip, just wanting it done, but Adam would spend hours with his 'art'.

The cool plastic of the light meter, pressed against Rusty's pelvis... Adam's smooth voice: "It has to be just right-"

Somehow the man's intense gaze, his breathless direction for Rusty's actions, was more terrifying than any business-suited closet case's sweaty fumblings. And it kept getting worse with each encounter...

Rusty's few bites of his dinner turned in his stomach.

"Do you want the panna cotta or the parfait?" Poppy asked, scanning the dessert menu.

"I don't want anything," Rusty said weakly.

"We can share," she suggested.

"Sure, but pick what you want. I'll only have a few bites," Rusty mumbled.

The note in his pocket said _call me_ with Adam's phone number.

~*~

Sharon shuffled through some notes she had on her case, organizing them in date order. Taking a sip from her wine glass, she waited for her LAPD laptop to log on. Her gaze strayed to the clock.

"The dance will just be starting. You've got a couple hours until you can begin worrying," Nick said from the couch where he had his own paperwork spread out around him.

"I'm not worried. I did a background check on that limo driver," she said haughtily, entering her password for the network.

Nick only raised his eyebrows and took a swig from his beer bottle.

"And I made it clear that he knew I was a cop before the kids took off," she added.

He snorted. "Lot of trouble for a school dance. Jeez, I took the bus to my date's house and we walked to the auditorium-"

"That was then, Nick," Sharon said, making it sound a very long time ago.

He frowned and scratched some notes on his legal pad.

"When do you go to trial?"

"Supposed to be next Monday," he said, "but they can still make a settlement offer at any time."

"Any chance they'll put out the money you need?"

"Not close yet. I'm not even considering the low-ball offers we've been getting," he said without looking up.

"Always playing all in," she noted.

He shrugged.

She looked at the horrific photograph of Britni's bloated, discolored nude body after it had been found in a remote reservoir by a fisherman. The young woman wasn't that far removed from her high school dances...And the prime suspect was her old boyfriend. Sharon brought up the Britni Collins file and opened the photograph from Britni's senior prom, with Seth Branson at her side, his smirk annoying Sharon.

She was set to interview him first thing tomorrow. She really needed to go to bed on time tonight...She glanced at the clock again but chose to ignore Nick's chuckle.

"Want me to turn on the Nancy Grace show?" he asked. "That should keep you distracted."

"No thank you," she shot back. "Poor Buzz is watching it for us and he'll give me his notes."

"Better him than you?" said Nick.

"Most definitely." She took another deep drink from her wine, then started transferring her notes, keeping her gaze from the clock.

~*~

"You were so wonderful," Poppy gasped, still holding Rusty's hand after they moved off the dance floor. He'd successfully navigated them through the waltz and was actually pretty proud of himself too. He grinned at her.

"Nothing to it," he said, sounding bored.

"Good job, Rusty," said Sister Doris from behind Rusty. She looked at their joined hands pointedly.

"Thanks, Sister," said Rusty, drawing his fingers free from Poppy's but exchanging a bemused look with his date.

As the nun moved away, Poppy grinned back and for a moment, Rusty was deeply happy. His empty stomach even rumbled.

"Dancing like some gay boy," a deep voice sneered behind him.

Rusty spun around. It was Reid, one of the boys he'd fought with on his first day of school.

"You're just jealous," said Poppy, glaring at the taller boy over Rusty's shoulder. Then she looked at Reid's date, Jessica. "And your girlfriend's been giving you shit."

Jessica tossed her long blonde hair and turned away.

"I don't wanna be prancing around like some flamer on Glee," said Reid, stepping closer to Rusty.

Rusty's vision went red, then black. What would happen to him if any of these jerks found out what he had done to survive? If even one of Adam's photographs got out? What had that man done with all those pictures? There had to be hundreds-

Rusty wavered on his feet, his head going light from lack of food and fear. Reid laughed rudely, thinking he was intimidating Rusty.

Poppy grabbed his arm. "Are you okay, Rusty?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled, even as he knew that his face was flushed bright red and could feel the sweat running down his sides and back.

Before Reid could do anything more, the boys' vice-principal moved in to break up the knot of tension. "There's another song starting, kids. You're here to dance. So dance," said Father Jim, a grumpy man who didn't look as though he'd ever danced.

Taking Poppy's hand, Rusty led her out onto the dim dance floor. He needed to hold her close...Wrapping his arms around her waist, he burrowed his hot face in the crook of her neck.

She gave a small gasp, and her fingers buried in his hair. "Rusty-" she whispered in his ear.

Bruno Mars was singing about loving a girl enough to die for her, but that guy had nothing on what Rusty was feeling right now-

Father Jim appeared beside them. "Move back. Hand's distance. You'll get your chance at the end of the dance," the priest said, his voice filled with disgust.

With a sigh, Rusty stood back and took a couple gulps of air to clear his head. The priest was right. He had to get through the slow dance later, and maybe a good night kiss if Poppy acted like she was expecting it...Another little 'lesson' from Nick Raydor.

"You'll be able to tell, kid. It's all in the timing-"

"I know how to kiss," Rusty had said, rolling his eyes.

Nick had started to say something, then changed tack. "You don't want to scare the girl, that's something to keep in mind. She may think she wants the kiss, but it's your job to make sure it's the kinda kiss she wants."

Rusty had groaned. Great, one more thing to worry about.

"No porn star kissing," Nick had clarified.

"Okay, okay," Rusty had said. All his childhood, he'd yearned for a father. The string of his mother's boyfriends had quickly shown him what he didn't want in a father figure, and after the horror of Daniel Dunn, any such dreams were shattered permanently. But God, Nick Raydor was going to give that fatherly advice whether asked for or not!

Rusty lead Poppy into the dimmer recesses of the dance floor and pulled her close again, keeping an eye out for the chaperons. He wanted to just enjoy this evening, because by tomorrow, his life would be going down the crapper.

~*~

Nick had lured Sharon onto the couch, claiming she would be more comfortable than at her desk. She'd come over, but stayed in the far corner of the sofa, keeping her laptop up like a shield.

With a sigh, Nick had shuffled down to the other end, dragging all his notepads with him.

But her eyelids fluttered again and again, finally drifting closed. When her head drooped, her chin in her chest, Nick carefully removed her glasses, lifted the laptop from her thighs, and gently eased her over to her side. He found a blanket and spread it across her. He moved to a chair, still alert and watching the clock. He always had been a night person compared to Sharon. He could wait for the boy.

~*~

The last dance was announced by the D.J. with significant tones. The chaperones shifted their gazes away from the dance floor, giving their unspoken permission. The room became darker and the light ball hanging over the dance floor stroked the dancers with colored beams.

Rusty drew Poppy into his arms. She gave a little sigh and snuggled her head under his chin. She was a bit too tall, particularly with her heels, but Rusty decided the momentary discomfort was worth it. He smoothed his hands across her back and buried his nose in her hair, fighting unexpected tears. She smelled nice, she felt nice...In a crazy way, he was a virgin; everything about being with Poppy was new and different from anything he'd felt with another person.

Then his thoughts started to race again. Should he kiss her now? Wait until they got to her house? That probably wouldn't be good. The limo driver would be watching, her father-Oh God, her brothers-might come outside to drag Poppy in before Rusty could do the deed.

It had to be done now, damn the room full of prying eyes. He tipped Poppy's chin up with a shaking hand and looked down at her. Damn that Nick, he was right. Her excitement-filled gaze was letting him know she was ready...Well, that and her hand which was gripping his suit jacket and twisting the fabric into a knot.

He put his lips to hers gently, waiting a moment before applying more pressure. He could feel her breathing quicken against his chest. That was the permission. He deepened the kiss, but keeping it sweet and soft-porn kiss, indeed! That jerk...

Poppy's giggle broke their kiss and he swallowed his sob with a chuckle of his own. Just perfect; she was laughing at him-

"That was great," she assured him, as though reading his mind. Her small palm cupped his jaw, soothing his rattled nerves. He could only nod, feeling foolish, deliriously happy, and terrified at the same moment. He staggered after her off the dance floor as the music wound down and confetti and balloons fell from the ceiling.

The remainder of the evening was a blur. The ride to drop everyone off at their homes was nothing but excited chatter and various stupid ideas about getting liquor or mooning passing cars. Finally it was just Rusty and Poppy left in the stretch Humvee's passenger area. Poppy curled up next to Rusty and pulled his mouth down to hers. Had he given her permission? This kiss became more intense than the first-why hadn't he thought of this opportunity? He was an idiot...The driver gave a not so subtle honk of his horn to let them know he's arrived at Poppy's house.

Rusty walked her to the front porch and was glad he'd taken his earlier kisses when the door was flung open to reveal her father and two of her brothers lurking in the foyer and her mother hanging off the stair railing, peering down at them.

He mumbled his goodnights, and raced back to the limo, irrationally giddy.

When Rusty slipped inside the dark condo, at first he thought Nick and Sharon were in their bedroom, but then Nick rose from a chair, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Sharon's head popped up from the couch, her usually immaculate hair disheveled. She immediately peppered him with questions.

Rusty headed to his bedroom tossing off assurances over his shoulder. "It was great. Poppy said she had a good time. I did okay with the waltz. Thanks for everything. Night."

He shut the door in Sharon's face.

After a moment, she turned away, her shoulders slumped dejectedly.

Nick put his arm around her. "Hey, the kid said he had a good time."

"I know...I just expected to hear some specific details."

"You don't want to hear a teenage boy's highlights of a dance," Nick pointed out, steering her toward the bedroom.

She gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs.

He had to have the last word. "I've been one of those teenage boys. I know of what I speak."

"Rusty's nothing like you," she said tartly, but her expression showed her uncertainty and concern.

Seeing that, Nick gave her a brief hug in the bedroom doorway. She resisted at first, but then gave him a squeeze back.

"Nope, he's nothin' like me," Nick assured her and closed the bedroom door.

In his bedroom, Rusty stripped down to his underwear, suddenly needing a shower. He felt as though he'd sweated a bucket of water this evening.

He dug the slip of paper with Adam's number out of his pocket and stared at it for a long minute, then took it to the bathroom. He flushed it down the toilet, and felt instantly better.

"Just like the shit he is," Rusty said firmly.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter contains graphic sexual situations and profanity_

~*~

Rusty sat slumped before his bowl, shoveling the cereal into his mouth. Sharon, dressed for work, sipped her tea and watched him.

"You could have slept in," she said.

"M'kay," he mumbled.

Nick filled a mug with coffee and joined them at the table. "You're going into the office?" he noted.

"Yes," Sharon said. "This case isn't solving itself."

Her attention was back on Rusty. "Will you want to go on more dates?" she asked delicately. "I know I've been busy with this case, but I can figure out a way to give you a ride-"

"I don't think so," Rusty said stiffly.

Sharon and Nick exchanged concerned looks over his bowed head. "All right. If you and Poppy didn't hit it off-"

"I like Poppy," Rusty grumbled, contrary.

"I understand, it's not gonna feel cool to go out with your foster mom waiting in the car -" suggested Nick.

Rusty rolled his eyes.

Sharon shot Nick a quelling look. "Maybe we could organize some group dates with other parents," she mused. "Keep things low pressure -"

"I don't want to date," burst out Rusty. He jumped up from the table and took his bowl to the sink to wash out.

Behind the boy's back, Nick waved his hand at Sharon to calm her down and she frowned at him.

"Want to have a driving lesson today, kid?" Nick asked Rusty.

Rusty was in no mood to be humored. "What for? I can only get that permit where I can't drive at night or alone or anything!"

"You'll want to drive someday," Nick said mildly. "As you guys are always telling me, no one walks in Southern California."

Rusty just rolled his eyes again and leaned against the kitchen counter as though he couldn't make it another step.

Sharon sighed. She went to the kitchen and put her teacup in the dishwasher. "I better get going," she said, bustling to her purse by the door.

Nick checked the clock. He said to Rusty, "I'm gonna try to make the 9 AM mass. Want to come?"

Rusty peered around the refrigerator to Sharon checking her phone. "Trying to look good to her?"

Nick leaned back in his chair and peered at Sharon. She raised her eyebrows, amused. "I worry about my own soul," he said, "she already thinks it's lost."

"I'll be going, you two," Sharon said decisively.

"Sharon!" Rusty darted out of the kitchen, his bare feet skidding on the polished wood floors.

"Yes?" She hung on the open door.

"All that skiing stuff in the storage locker downstairs-"

"Yes, Rusty?"

"It's yours?"

"Of course," she said, perplexed.

"Do you think...I guess when it's snowing up in the mountains...That we could go skiing?"

"You ski?" Sharon asked, her face lighting up.

"Uh...No," Rusty admitted. "I guess it's expensive." His shoulders slumped.

"We have all the equipment and clothes. That's most of the cost," she said. "The slopes are usually open around Thanksgiving. Maybe Brice and Claire will be here for the holiday -"

"Have you called them yet?" Nick asked.

"I've sent them emails and texts," Sharon snapped. "Claire's going to check her schedule and Brice is still out of touch in Chile. His production crew is up in the mountains shooting footage of a rare goat of some sort."

"Just askin'," Nick grumbled, making his way toward the bedroom.

Sharon turned her attention back to Rusty. "I'm sure this case will be cleared up by Thanksgiving. We'll go skiing," I promise." She gave him a reassuring smile. "Now I _must_ go."

"Sure, thanks," muttered Rusty and she closed the door.

Nick stopped outside the bathroom. "Were you comin' or not? Bus will be leaving in twenty minutes."

"I'm goin' back to bed," Rusty announced now that Sharon had left.

"Suit yourself," Nick said, and ducked into the bathroom.

Once in his bedroom, Rusty didn't return to bed, but wandered aimlessly. He picked up his crumpled suit and hung it in the closet. He checked the pockets, paranoid that Adam had slipped another note in one. He found the condoms Nick gave him. With a shudder, he started to toss them in the garbage, but decided not to - what if Sharon found them? He buried them in the bottom of his underwear drawer.

His stomach just kept knotting, despite destroying Adam's note. He thought about the rest of that joint, somewhere in the closet...He rooted around among the shoes and athletic equipment, but couldn't find it.

With a groan, he fell backward on the bed. He had homework to do, he could go shoot some hoops while Nick was gone, there were his chores...

His phone beeped; a text.

Hands shaking, Rusty unlocked the phone. It was from Poppy:

_Hey boo what u doin_

He gave a half sob, half laugh. As he started to reply, Nick knocked on the door. "I'm headed out," the older man called through the door.

"Yeah, yeah," Rusty yelled back, clutching his phone. Once he heard the front door close, his attention went back to the phone. Snuggling into his pillows, he started to reply to Poppy.

~*~

Rusty had finally begun to relax. Four more days passed with no word from Adam. Rusty decided that he'd just have to accept that he may encounter his former clients, and those men had much more to be ashamed and fearful about than he did.

So when his phone chirped for a text during his lunch hour at school, Rusty fished it out of his pocket without nerves. He glanced at the screen - and nearly threw up. It was a picture of him and another boy. It had been taken by Adam during one of his photography sessions. As hurriedly as he could, Rusty deleted it and tried to regain his breath.

Why did he even think that bastard would just go away?

His text chirped again. This time, it was a message: _call we need to talk_

Rusty wanted to hurl the phone down on the concrete, shattering it. But now he knew this guy couldn't be flushed away, or smashed. After checking the time, he hit dial on the number.

"What do you want? I've only got a few minutes until my next class," Rusty said as soon as the line connected.

"I asked you to call me," said Adam.

"We ain't got nothin' to say to each other. That's all I've got to say to you."

"I think we do have a lot to say to each other."

Rusty moved away from any other students. "Listen, you're just another closet case who got your jollies off from paying some kids to blow each other. Think your family would like to hear about that?"

Adam was silent for a long moment. "Looks like you've moved up in the world, Rusty. How would _your_ family like to hear about the sort of things you did?"

"I don't live with my family. I live with a cop. And she's gonna bust your ass if she ever finds out you're sniffing around me," Rusty panted into his phone. "I'm not gonna say anything for now because I can handle shit like you, but don't keep pushing me -"

"What about Poppy? And her family? The other kids at school? You think they'd like to see that picture? For your yearbook?"

"What do you want?" growled Rusty.

"I want to be sure you keep your mouth shut. I told you, I was taking erotic pictures as art, but a lot of people wouldn't understand -"

The class bell rang in the distance. Rusty cursed. "So we're both in the same boat," he said quickly. "Just disappear and I'll forget you ever existed, freak."

"Oh, I can't forget you, Rusty," Adam said, his voice low.

"Fuck off. Just fuck off." Rusty ended the call and deleted the record as he hurried to his next class.

~*~

Sharon watched Rusty push his dinner around the plate. She tipped her head to Nick. He shrugged and took a sip from his beer bottle. Rusty had been so cheerful after Sunday's sullenness, but now he was back to sulking. Teenagers...

"The trial starts on Monday?" she asked Nick, since Rusty had only replied with monosyllables to her attempts at conversation.

"Yep," Nick said, not much more wordy.

"And how long do you expect it to last?"

"I'd say a week, maybe 9 days at the most."

"Then you'll leave," she said cheerfully. That got Rusty's head to pop up, his expression hopeful.

Nick pursed his mouth. "Yeah, I guess there's nothing to keep me here."

Before Sharon could give a rejoinder, her cell phone rang. Snagging it off the counter, her face lit up at the name. "Brice, honey?" she exclaimed as she connected the call.

Nick leaned close, as though he could hear the conversation. Rusty took a bite of potatoes and cocked his head to listen as well.

"Where are you?" Sharon nodded to Nick as she heard the reply. "You'll be here for Thanksgiving, you think?"

She wadded up her napkin and listened to her son. "I understand, but it would be so wonderful for all of you to be here - Your father's here, you know?"

Nick nodded as though Brice could see him.

"He'd love to see you too," Sharon wheedled.

Rusty pushed the hair from his eyes and cut up his meatloaf, smiling. Good luck to this guy if he thought he could escape Sharon Raydor.

"Of course you can bring someone!" Sharon groped for Nick's hand, causing Rusty to stare. "We've told you all along that we wanted to meet Mark."

She stopped talking, her expression serious as Brice was answering her. Nick squeezed her fingers.

Rusty couldn't eat any more. He pushed his plate away.

"You got my email about Rusty?" Sharon asked. "The guest room is occupied right now, so the two of you will have to stay in a hotel, but I'll pay," she said, back in her bossy mode.

She smiled at something Brice said. "Yes, and Mark should probably only meet Nick under controlled conditions."

Nick made an exasperated sound.

"Okay, I understand...Yes, we were having dinner...I can't wait to see you, honey," said Sharon.

Nick waved for the phone. "Your father wants to say something." She handed him her cell.

"Hey, son, how yah doin'?" Nick nodded at the short reply. "Good. I'm good." He cleared his throat. "Okay then. See you...The 20th. Just text us the flight number and time."

He gave the phone back to Sharon and after shaking her head at his brevity, she chattered at Brice a few minutes more before ending the call.

"So you're staying through Thanksgiving?" she asked Nick.

"Hey, gotta see my kids. And meet Mark, finally."

"Yes, I can't wait to meet him in person. Maybe after this production is completed, they'll settle down -"

"Try to get that out of your system before they get here," scolded Nick. "You'll be suggesting wedding cake flavors and first dance songs before we're even done with the appetizers."

She tossed back her hair. "What can I say? I'm still a Catholic mother under it all. I want to see my children happily married."

"So your son's gay?" Rusty suddenly said.

Nick and Sharon looked at him. "Yes," Sharon said slowly, sensing the young man's tension.

Gripping his napkin tightly, Rusty jumped up from his chair. "Was that why you took me in? You think I'm a fag?"

"Hey, wait a minute -" rumbled Nick, rising too.

Sharon joined them in standing, putting a hand on Nick's chest and the other on Rusty's arm. "Don't use that sort of language around us, please," she said sharply. "We've heard it enough for a lifetime."

"But that's what you think, right?" Rusty's face had gone red and blotchy as he fought tears. "What, you're some expert at raising happy little gay boys? What if I don't want to be one?"

"No, I'm not an expert at all. In fact, I was an utter failure as the mother of a gay son," Sharon said, her voice shaking.

Nick's attention turned to her. "Sharon, it wasn't just you-"

She balled her fist on his chest.

Then she stepped toward Rusty. "You can be whatever you are, honey."

He gave a ragged laugh. "I'll be your redo, then? You fucked up with this Brice, so I'm your second chance?"

"That not the case at all!" Sharon protested.

Without another word, Rusty strode to his bedroom and slammed the door.

"Baby," said Nick, but he couldn't think of what to say next.

She gathered up the dishes with the half-eaten dinners, her movements jerky. "Maybe he's right, maybe I'm using him -"

"No, no," protested Nick, joining her in the kitchen. "I've seen you with this kid. He needs someone who'll love him no matter what shit's going on, and you're pretty good at that -"

"Just like I've been so understanding and supportive of your issues?" she fired back, shoveling the food into the sink's garbage disposal.

Nick could only laugh. "I'm a special case." He squeezed her tight shoulders. "Don't beat yourself up."

"I just have this awful feeling that we turned a corner into a dark alley, Nick." She stared sightlessly through the condo to the night-cloaked hills outside the deck windows. "And I didn't see it coming at all, just like with Brice."

Inside his bedroom, Rusty paced in tight circles. He wanted to throw things, he wanted to scream, but these weren't his possessions, and he didn't want to bug Sharon's neighbors. His phone rang. Cursing, he found it at the bottom of his jeans' pocket.

"Yeah?"

"I want to see you tonight," said Adam.

"Remember the part where I told you to fuck off? Do that, and die," hissed Rusty.

"I just want to talk."

"Well, I don't want to -" Rusty started to hang up, but Adam said a name and the younger man placed the phone back to his ear.

"You mentioned your foster mother was a cop, so I started doing some googling. Sharon Raydor led me to Major Crimes, which led me to Brenda Johnson, which led me Philip Stroh, which led me to a no-name witness, a young man who was up in the woods while that sicko was dumping a body. Now, who could that young man be, Rusty?"

"Got no idea."

"That case must be pretty important to Captain Raydor. From the sound of it, her section has to win this case. Stroh's eluded them before. So it'd be a real bummer if her star witness was revealed to be a little street slut."

"Wouldn't know anything about that."

"They say a picture is worth a thousand words. I see Captain Raydor on the news every hour with her current case. Just a loop, walking in and out of LAPD headquarters...That case isn't going very well for her either, Rusty. Hate to see you be a distraction for her, if your pictures got out-"

"What do you want?" Rusty repeated.

"I just want to talk to you -"

"We're talking now."

"In person."

Rusty sat on the edge of the bed. Okay, he could do this. Just go meet this creep, give him whatever 'treat' that he wanted, and come home. It would all be over...Only he knew it would never be over...

"I can't just walk out now."

"Later, when she's asleep."

"Where?"

"Your old spot on Sunset."

"Of course," Rusty mumbled.

"Text me when you're able to leave."

"Okay," said Rusty, numb. He hung up without another word.

Thinking furiously for a few minutes, he finally made a decision. Even once he got rid of this loser, Adam was right. He was nothing but trouble for Sharon at this time.

Flinging his bedroom door open, he rushed out. She and Nick were rinsing dishes and placing them in the dishwasher, talking in low tones to each other, their heads tipped close.

"I think it would be for the best if I got another placement," Rusty announced. "I'll call Cynthia tomorrow."

Before Sharon could say anything, he spun on his heel and retreated.

Nick held her back. "Let the kid cool off," he advised. "He'll change his mind by the morning."

Sharon shook her head. "I don't know, Nick -"

He closed the dishwasher. "You've been working so hard, seven days a week. Go take a nice long shower, have a glass of wine, and go to bed early."

"I'm worried that these glasses of wine are getting closer together," she said, tears in her voice. She headed to her bedroom, Nick trailing.

"Is this the time to be counting your drinks?" he said, closing the bedroom door behind them.

"Probably the best time," she said, turning into him. Now that they had privacy, she let the tears come.

His hand slipped under her hair to cradle the back of her head as he held her loosely and let her cry. She wrapped her arms around his solid middle and held on tightly.

He mumbled nonsense in her ear, making her feel warm and safe in his embrace. She tipped her chin up to nip his jaw, then sooth the mark with a kiss.

His hum was inquisitory. Her answer was grab his shoulders and keep him close as she sealed her mouth over his for a kiss. Her despondency turned on a dime, to become urgent, angry and need-filled.

Nick's hands buried in her hair, keeping their kisses deep. Her head went light with the lack of oxygen, but she didn't want to break their bond. Nick was right, she needed to block everything out for just a few hours...

She tugged him to the bed, pulling him over on top of as they fell on the mattress. She worked at his shirt buttons and hooked her leg around his, keeping his close as possible. Their hips began to move together, remembering the familiar rhythm. His smell, cologne mixed with his male scent, the scrape of his beard on her face, his heavy weight...It was all familiar and desperately necessary for the night.

"Sharon," he gasped against her neck. He fumbled with her blouse buttons.

"Right here," she mumbled, yanking his shirt off with a triumphant grunt.

He brushed back the silk of her top and started to trail kisses across her collarbone toward her breasts. Her head fell back on the thick duvet when he latched onto her nipple through the thin lace of her bra. Yes, this would definitely help her forget the past pains.

Refocusing, she found his pants' fly. Her hand rooting under the waistband of his boxers gained her that deep moan he made that always shot straight to her clitoris. She bit hard on his rough-skinned neck as her response. It was always back and forth when they were together...Her hand slid up and down his hardening length.

He propped up on his shaking arms above her. "Sharon," he said again.

"Yeah?" She glared up at him, knowing what was coming before he said it.

Delicately, he placed her blouse back across her chest, covering the pattern of love bites and wet lace he'd left.

He spoke carefully. "When we make love, it'll be for the last time-"

She didn't disagree. He rolled off her. "And I'm not ready for it to be over yet, at least not tonight-" He refastened his pants. "Not like this." He touched the tear stains on her cheekbone.

"Okay, fine." She shifted away from him.

"Sharon..."

"You suggested a shower. That sounds good." She struggled off the bed.

"Okay." Lying flat on his back, he covered his eyes with his palms. "This isn't about want, Sharon. You know I want you-"

She dropped her defensive shield for a moment. "I know, Nick," she said, defeated and tired. "Go to bed-"

He stood. "Think I'll take the couch," he said.

Sharon had dropped off her blouse and was unzipping her skirt. She glanced at him from under the curtain of her hair. "You don't need to-"

He started to back to the door. "Oh...Yes, I think I do," he said breathlessly as he slipped around the door.

Rusty kept checking his phone's clock. The condo had gone silent hours ago, but he wanted to be sure Nick and Sharon were deeply asleep before he sneaked out.

He pulled on his heaviest hoodie, slipped his phone into his pocket and put on his shoes. As he crept down the hall, he was focused on Nick's car keys on the table by the front door.

He gave a yelp when he saw Nick on the couch. The older man turned and groaned. "What yay doin'?" he rumbled.

Rusty headed to the kitchen. "Gettin' somethin' to drink," he said.

Nick rolled over, grumbling as he rearranged the slipping blanket.

"She tossed you out?" Rusty said, taking a sparkling water from the refrigerator.

"Sometimes you gotta know when to beat a retreat," Nick said.

"I know," Rusty said quietly.

Nick cracked one eye open and pinned the young man with his gaze. "Don't go anywhere, kid," he said, making Rusty quake. "Sharon needs you and you need her."

"Sure," he replied, trying to make his tone light. "Just getting my drink." He held up the bottle to show Nick.

The older man was already dropping back to sleep as Rusty returned to his bedroom.

Her cell phone woke Sharon. "Captain Raydor," she rasped.

"Captain, Flynn here. We've got Elah Cooper. Our friend the traffic stop snares another one. He's being transported to Interview Room One as we speak."

She was instantly awake. "I'll be there in half an hour."

Flying out of the bedroom, she barely noticed Nick still curled up on the sofa. 'Wha' time is it?" he asked sleepily.

"Six," she said, snagging her purse. "Can you get Rusty to school?"

"Sure," he mumbled.

An hour later, she was ready to begin her interview of their suspect when her cell rang. She glanced down and saw Nick's number. With an impatient sigh, she sent it straight to voicemail.

"Lieutenant Flynn, you're with me in the room," she said crisply.

Andy tossed out his empty paper coffee cup. "Got it."

"The rest of you in observation," she instructed her group.

Provenza's cell phone rang.

"When you're ready," Sharon said to him as she lead the detectives from the Murder Room.

"Captain!" Provenza called after her, "it's Nick."

"What the hell does he want?" she said disagreeably, then her face dropped. "Rusty?"

Provenza nodded and handed her the phone when she came to his side.

"What's happened?" she demanded to know.

"Rusty's not there with you? No call from the school?" said Nick.

"What's happened?" she repeated, panic rising.

"He's not here," Nick said quickly. "I'd hoped I'd misheard you this morning-"

"Maybe he just ran to the store or something," she suggested, but not believing it.

She heard Nick moving. "My car keys are gone," he said, tense. "Let me check-"

Leaning on Andy's desk, she tried to keep her breathing normal. He stood close, his face concerned. She shook her head at him.

"My car's gone," Nick verified. "He's taken my car."

"Where could he go? Why?" she said.

Assistant Chief Taylor appeared in the Murder Room. "What's the hold up?"

Sharon held the phone to her shoulder. "Rusty's missing," she explained.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Taylor said tightly. "But we've got the press assembling already, wanting to hear what the suspect has to say -"

"_We_ haven't even heard what this Cooper has to say," protested Flynn.

"Then you better get in there," said Taylor. "Now."

Sharon heard Nick squawk against her shoulder. "What is it?" she asked quickly.

"I'll contact the rental company. They can track these cars. He was upset last night. Maybe he just went for a joyride and doesn't know how to get home."

"He's always come home before," she said, fighting tears. She felt Andy give her elbow a brief touch. He remembered her anguish at losing Rusty the last time.

"Go to work," Nick told her. "I'll find the boy. Trust me."

She stared at the phone after he disconnected. Despite all her previous experiences, once again, she would have to trust Nick Raydor.

"Coming, Captain?" Taylor called from the doorway. "I can do it if you won't-"

"I'm coming, sir," she said, resolute.


	10. Chapter 10

3:24 AM:  
Rusty parked Nick's car and turned off the engine with shaking hands. He'd driven the entire way to Sunset Boulevard in second gear, the RPM's roaring. It had taken longer to arrive at the meeting spot than he'd told Adam. He hurried to the wide street, traffic still heavy at this late hour-business continued as usual, even though he'd moved on.

Javier, who usually hung out on under the streetlight beside Rusty's regular spot, wasn't there. Maybe he'd been arrested, perhaps he'd gotten a real job, or was with a customer. Rusty was glad for the privacy as he waited. Where was that bastard anyway?

His text pinged. He quickly dug the phone out of his pocket.

_r u there?_

_yes_

_come 2 alley_

Of course. Rusty took a deep breath, and strode toward the nearby alley. Adam would wait there with his car. After their first contact, he wouldn't chance being seen on the street with the boys. He'd cruise by slowly, signal Rusty, and wait in the alley with his car door unlocked.

Rusty turned down the alley, but there was no car. He was reaching for his phone again when he caught sight of a bulky male figure approaching out of the corner of his vision.

"Rusty?" a man said.

"Yeah?" Rusty replied, squinting in the dark.

"Are you ready?"

"I'm waiting for someone," Rusty said.

"I know. It's me."

"Uh, no," Rusty said, taking a step back. Before he could get any further, he was hit with a taser barb and dropped to the ground, writhing in pain.

~*~

Sharon stared at Elah Cooper across the interview table. Beside her, Flynn shifted slightly in his chair. The legs squeaked on the floor.

"Mr. Cooper, I'm Captain Raydor," she finally said.

"Hi," he said.

She had his very slim police file before her. Speeding tickets and one failure to appear on those tickets that had resulted in a three day stay in Mendocino County jail two years ago. Which had put his fingerprints in the national database. They matched those found on a paper coffee cup found crumbled on the ground with other trash near the crime scene. It wasn't much...

"Do you enjoy fishing, Mr. Cooper?" she asked.

"Yes."

Cooper didn't look at Flynn and his intense gaze stayed locked with hers. She forced herself to maintain the steady contact.

Sharon was still getting used to interviewing criminal suspects. All those years in Internal Affairs meant most of her interviews were with other police officers. They knew all the tics and mannerisms of the guilty. A guilty cop would look you right in the eye like this, thinking it made them appear sincere.

She smiled. "Have you been fishing at the Blackpoint Reservior recently?"

He gave a quick shake of his head. "I'm not from around here. Where's that?"

Sharon had left her phone with Provenza. Had Nick called? She licked her lips.

"Off the 210, before the Grapevine."

Cooper shrugged. "I don't really know the area -"

"You're a construction worker?" said Andy. "Lot of tools in your truck."

They needed grounds for a warrant to search that truck. To see if there was any DNA evidence that Britni Collins had been in the vehicle. Or a saw with blood on its teeth.

"Yeah," Cooper said.

"Not much business these days," suggested Andy.

"Nope."

"Fishing," prompted Sharon. "Have you been recently?"

Cooper blinked once. Sharon felt like she was waiting for her computer to process data.

Finally he said, "I pulled off the highway a couple weeks ago, in the country somewhere. I had picked up a job at this Home Depot, and I wanted to take a piss before I got there." He smiled, a cold, empty expression. "Ladies don't like you to use their bathroom."

"Leave anything behind?" asked Flynn. He turned the folder file before him on the table one turn.

Cooper watched him, then looked back at Sharon.

"Don't think so -"

"Didn't just toss trash out?" suggested Sharon.

He made a production of thinking. "Probably," he finally said. "I don't like the inside of my truck to be dirty."

"Instead you litter so the rest of us have to look at it?" said Flynn aggressively.

Cooper's mouth twisted in contempt and he looked to Sharon for backup. She smiled sympathetically and shrugged.

"Guilty as charged," Cooper said lightly and she realized they were dealing with a sociopath. For a brief moment she really missed Brenda Johnson.

There was a knock on the door and Provenza stuck his head in. "Captain," he said, his hound dog face sagging.

She leapt up. "I'll be right back."

"Hey, how long are you gonna keep me here?" Cooper protested but she ignored him and pulled the door shut behind her.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" she asked.

He held out the phone. "I'll let Nick tell you."

She clutched the phone to her ear. "Yes?"

"Sharon -"

"What is it?"

"I'm at the car. It's right off Sunset, at..." She could tell he was looking around for a sign. "Olive."

"Any sign of Rusty?"

"No, it was locked but the rental company gave me another key."

She shot Provenza an alarmed look. "You didn't open the door -"

"Yes, but I opened the back door to look inside and didn't touch it with my bare hand -used my handkerchief."

She rolled her eyes. Only Nick still carried silk handkerchiefs. "Is there anything?"

"Nope, don't see anything out of place. No sign of him around either."

She held the phone against her shoulder. "Lieutenant," she said to Provenza. "You worked the stakeout to catch Stroh by putting Rusty out as a lure on Sunset?"

"You make it sound so bad," grumbled Provenza, "the kid was never out of our sight the whole time."

"What was the location?" she hissed. "Rusty's usual spot?"

"Between Olive and Crescent," he told her.

She conveyed the information to Nick. "Perhaps he wanted to talk to some old...Friends," she said weakly.

She was startled by a touch. Provenza was squeezing her shoulder and she resisted the urge to sag against him. Something was terribly wrong, but she couldn't think what it could be.

"I'm going to check around," Nick said. "Talk to some of these boys -"

"Don't be crazy," she barked, standing upright again.

Taylor appeared in the hall from the observation room. "What are you doing?" he demanded to know.

"Just letting him sweat, sir," she said crisply, hiding the phone behind her back. "He was getting control of the interview."

Taylor looked confused. "Well, okay. But get back in there."

"Yes, sir," she said, handing the phone off to Provenza before slipping into the interview room.

Flynn immediately met her gaze, but she gave him a shake of her head before taking her seat again.

When Taylor returned to the observation room, Provenza finally had the chance to check the phone. "Nick? Nick, are you there?"

The line was dead. "Dammit," he growled.

~*~

Nick checked his appearance in the new vehicle the rental company had given him. He'd rushed out without shaving or properly combing his hair, and was wearing a polo sweater under a black leather jacket with jeans, but he supposed this gave him the look of guy finishing up a night on Strip, looking for one last piece of action.

Smoothing down his hair, he adjusted his coat and looked up and down the nearly empty sidewalk, bathed in the cool light of dawn. A tall woman strolled before a shuttered nightclub, her impossibly long legs revealed by a very short skirt. But as Nick passed her, he gave her another look and decided she was actually a male transvestite. There was certainly every option out here, and he was playing a guessing game on who could help him.

At the end of the block, Nick spotted a teenage boy in the familiar droopy jeans of young men but he wore only a tight tee shirt in the winter chill. His long black hair stroked his narrow shoulders, and his dark eyes darted, watching the street and sidewalk, searching for customers and cops in the same glance.

Nick slowed down, giving the boy the once over but waiting for him to make the first move.

"Help you find somethin'?" the young man asked, his smile inviting but his eyes blank.

"Actually..." Nick glanced up and down the street. "I was looking for a guy I've seen here before -"

"I'm the only one out here," the boy said rudely. "You get what you get."

Nick pulled out his wallet and removed a twenty dollar bill. "Let's call this a finder's fee. I really liked this guy. Want to see him again."

The boy looked at the twenty, emotions warring on his face. "Who you lookin' for?"

"His name's Rusty. Blond."

"Hasn't been around since summer," the boy said quickly. "Sorry."

"Sure you didn't see him last night? I heard he was going to start coming around again."

"Nope." The boy crossed his arms over his thin chest.

Nick thought. "This was his spot?" He nodded back toward the empty stretch of sidewalk. The transvestite had disappeared.

"Yeah."

"Someone taken it over since Rusty went away?"

"Sure. Spot gets filled."

Nick shook his head in despair. "Listen, if he shows up, give me a call. There's five times this money for that call." He handed the boy the twenty and his business card.

"Nicholas Raydor, Esquire," the young man read off the card. "Fancy." He smirked.

"What's your name?" Nick asked.

"Javier."

"Thanks for your help, Javier," Nick said sincerely.

"Sure buddy. See you around," Javier said with a flirtatious lilt in his voice.

Nick was travelling up the block, keeping his eye out for Rusty or any other young men, when his phone rang.

"Yeah?"

"It's Provenza."

"Sharon heard something?"

"No, she's back in the interview. Taylor's riding her ass-"

"Fucker."

"Yeah. But I've got Mike Tao to get a trace on Rusty's phone. It's down there off Sunset."

"Shit, I can't find him -" growled Nick.

"Stay put. Tao's on the way. He can pinpoint the phone with his fancy equipment."

"All right. Tell him I'm at Olive and Sunset in my new rental car." Nick opened the car's door and settled in the front seat, drumming his fingers impatiently.

Within a few minutes, a car pulled up behind his and Nick jumped out to greet Sharon's detective.

Tao rolled down the window. "The phone's close." He tapped his tablet. "It has GPS, so we can get a pretty decent location. Not just the triangulation off the cell towers -"

"Where? Where is he?" asked Nick impatiently.

Tao nodded forward. "It looks like the signal's coming from down this alley."

He got out of the car and led Nick past another dingy club and down a dim alley which smelled of urine and stale cabbage.

"You got a weapon?" Nick suggested, his head swiveling.

Tao glanced up from his tablet. "Oh, yeah." After unsnapping the cover on his sidearm, he nodded. "Straight ahead."

Nick spotted a dumpster, and his stomach knotted. "Straight ahead," he repeated, his jaw tightening on the words.

He lifted the lid for the detective. Tao pulled his weapon and peered in.

"Not much in here," Tao said and Nick's shoulders sagged with relief.

"No body?" he asked.

"Nope, but the phone's got to be here somewhere."

The men spent a frustrating ten minutes searching. Nick eventually climbed in, grumbling and cursing, to sort through all the garbage stuck to the bottom.

"Here!" Tao called from outside the dumpster, holding up the battered cell phone.

"Damn," Nick said, managing to clamor out of the dumpster with some help from Tao.

"Password protected," said Tao as he tried to access the phone. "Battery's low too."

Nick wiped his hands on his handkerchief. "Let's get back to Sharon's place. We gotta start where we saw him last and figure out what the hell's going on."

Tao raised his eyebrows at receiving orders from a civilian. "I better check in with Lieutenant Provenza," he said.

Nick stopped and then returned, frustration on his face. "Dammit, something's wrong here -"

"We have to follow protocol. It's what the Captain would want us to do. You know her as well as any of us."

As though this summoned her, Nick's cell phone rang with Sharon's name on it.

"Is there anything?" he asked her as a greeting.

"That's my question to you," she replied, pacing outside the interview room. Cooper was being led away in handcuffs to a holding cell while they waited on a search warrant for his hotel room and truck.

Nick quickly updated her. "His phone was in an alley. I've questioned a boy on the street, but there's no more out there this early in the morning. I think we should check his room. I just ran out. Didn't really look around."

She thought furiously. "Yes, you're right. We've got to start treating this like an investigation. I'll get the team together and meet you there."

Flynn and Provenza were waiting as she disconnected the call.

"Captain, I don't want to say this-" Flynn started. "But Taylor's not going to let this team work a second case-"

"I _have_ to find him."

"We understand," Provenza broke in. "But let me be the voice of forty years of experience on the streets. He's had a shitty childhood, was a street hustler, then saw a murderer dumping a body. These sort of kids have trouble adjusting into a stable life. Has anything happened recently which could have set him off?"

Sharon opened her mouth to protest, but then she had to drop her head. "We had a heated discussion last night."

Flynn and Provenza's gazes met over her bowed head.

"He...He said he wanted to leave...But he was going to call his social worker and ask for a new placement, not run back to the streets!" Sharon strode toward her office. "We're going to my place first. We'll search his room and see if there's any clue as to who's taken him."

Her lieutenants remained standing in the hall. She looked back at them. "Are you coming?"

"Yes, Captain," they said in unison.

Nick has let Tao into the condo already when Sharon arrived with Flynn and Provenza. She'd sent Sanchez, Sykes and Buzz on to the hotel room where Cooper had been living.

"Let's just take a quick look around his room," Sharon announced, her gaze scanning her familiar home for anything out of place.

"When was the last time either of you saw Rusty?" Flynn asked, taking out his notebook.

Sharon blinked. She was the witness, not the lead investigator.

"As I said, we had a disagreement over dinner. It was later, about eight. He went to his bedroom for a few minutes, then came out and said he wanted to move to a new foster home."

Flynn wrote this down.

"I saw him sometime in the night," announced Nick.

She stared at Nick. He explained: "I was on the couch asleep -"

Flynn ducked his head to hide his smirk.

Nick still saw it. He continued, "I stayed up working until about midnight. I don't know how long it was, but I know I was deeply asleep -"

"You fall asleep in a second though," Sharon pointed out.

"It was pitch dark, so what time is dawn?" said Nick. "Five thirty?"

He stopped, remembering the scene. "He usually wears a tee shirt to bed, right?"

"Yes." Sharon led the group to Rusty's bedroom. She picked up the white tee shirt draped over the room's chair. "This."

"He was wearing something dark," said Nick, shaking his head in frustration. "I remember the room was black; I only sensed movement -"

"Maybe you weren't that deeply asleep if he woke you up," suggested Provenza.

"I wake easily, particularly if someone's sneaking around in the dark," Nick said.

"He was sneaking?" said Flynn.

Nick looked at the other man for a long moment. "Yes, I guess he was. He said he was getting a drink..." Nick closed his eyes for a moment. "But yes, he was wearing something heavy...A black sweatshirt? I saw it when the door opened and the light lit him."

"Okay, do we have permission to toss the room?" Provenza asked Sharon.

She nodded. "Let's do it."

Sitting in the chair out of the way, Tao hooked Rusty's cell phone to his tablet. "Password?" he asked.

Sharon gave him the password and he began downloading the texts and call history.

Sharon remained out of the search, but paced in tight circles.

Properly gloved, Flynn took the bedside table, pulling everything out and lying it on the made bed. Finding nothing of interest, he moved to the bureau and stacked the folded clothes on the end of the mattress.

Provenza had put on another set of gloves and started on the closet, rooting through the garments and items on the floor like an old dog.

Nick stayed by the door, biting at his thick mustache, tense. His phone rang, startling everyone.

"Yeah?" His expression darkened. "You take the lead, Lola. I'll be in later."

He listened to his associate's response, but jumped right back in with his response. "It's a family emergency. I have complete faith in your ability, Lola. You wouldn't be in my firm if I didn't."

Sharon tried to get his attention, but he waved her off. "Get it done," he barked to Lola, then hung up before she could respond.

He gave Sharon's elbow a squeeze and they turned back to watching the two lieutenants searching.

From the bottom of a bureau drawer, Flynn held up two small foil packets. "Condoms," he said.

Sharon huffed in agitation. "I didn't get him those."

Nick lifted his hands. "I did."

She whirled on him. "What?!"

"Before the dance," he explained. "You gotta understand teenage boys -"

"Did he ask you to buy him those?"

"I already had them," Nick admitted. "And no, I offered, he didn't ask."

Flynn rolled his eyes, and placed the condoms in a separated pile.

"You gave him just two? Or that was all you had left?" Sharon said tightly.

"I gave him only those two. He didn't want to take them, but I told him better safe than sorry," Nick grumbled.

Sharon shook her head in disgust.

Provenza grunted and shuffled backward from the closet.

"Found something?" asked Sharon quickly.

In his blunt fingertips, the older man held up the end of a joint.

"Oh my God," gasped Sharon, "where the hell did that come from?"

"Could it be your son's?" suggested Flynn.

"Well...Uh..." came from behind them.

Spinning on her heel, Sharon glared down her nose at her husband. "Nick -"

He held up his hands again. "Listen it's just some weed -"

"Did you give him that too?" she challenged.

"No!" Nick hunched his shoulders. "I caught him with it about a week ago. Just told him not to do that around you -"

"And you chose not to tell me? I have accepted responsibility for this young man. What if he'd been caught by the police? How would that look?" she raged.

"It was just some weed," Nick repeated. "He said it wasn't a regular thing."

"I don't believe this." Sharon got in his face. "What else is there, Nick? What else haven't you told me...As usual!"

"Nothing! There's nothing!" insisted Nick. "I know this looks bad, but it's just usual teenage boy shit. I'm sure when you check the laptop, there'll be some porn!"

"Not the laptop," Tao said from behind him, his tone deadly. "His phone."

They gathered around the chair to view the tablet's screen. When Sharon saw the image of Rusty, naked, engaged in a sexual act with another boy, she gagged.

Nick grabbed her, pulling her away. "Son of a bitch, bud," he growled at Tao.

"Sorry," Tao said quickly. "I forgot we're not on a case."

"But we are," Flynn said grimly. "Walk us through this, Mike."

"Okay," said Tao, recovering. "The photo was deleted, but I retrieved it. It was sent yesterday by this phone number-" He pointed to the screen. "Just a preliminary scan, but it seems to be the first contact with this number, which is not in his address book. I'm also checking..." He pulled up another tab on his browser. "-it's a disposable. Not assigned to any credit card."

"Oh, this isn't sounding good," said Provenza, then quickly shot Sharon a worried look, realizing he wasn't talking about just any case.

"There's only two calls, and a few texts. The second call is around eight last night-" He glanced up. "That's when you said he came out of the bedroom and said he that he wanted to move out, right?"

Sharon nodded,wrapping her arms tightly around her waist.

Tao continued: "The last communication is at 3:32 this morning and it sounds like Rusty is lured into that alley where we found the phone." Tao read the exchange of texts from the morning.

Sharon put a shaking hand over her mouth, fighting nausea again. "My God," she whispered. "Who could this be?"

Squinting, Provenza looked at the photograph again. "Could you enlarge the faces, Tao," he asked. "I don't want to see anything below the waist," he insisted.

Examining at the other boy's face, he said, "This guy doesn't look any older than fourteen or fifteen himself. I can't see him tracking down Rusty."

Sharon forced herself to refocus. "Yes, how would this boy find Rusty? He's been in protective custody since he was released from the hospital. He's been attending a private school which doesn't have to report its student rolls. This phone is under my name. How could anyone get his number?" She looked at Tao. "You're saying this number contacts Rusty first?"

"Yes."

She looked to Nick next. "I would swear that Rusty hasn't had any contact with anyone outside of school who I don't know. Have you seen him with anyone? Has he told you about anybody?"

"Me?" said Nick with a chuckle. "He only tolerates me because of you. He's not telling me about any of his friends."

"I thought -" She waved her hand at the evidence on the bed.

"This is all I know about, I swear," Nick promised her.

Provenza read through the text messages again. "I hate to say it again, but I'm gonna, because this is what Taylor would say. You've got a street kid who was hiding stuff from you. Maybe he's just taken off -"

Before Sharon could protest, Nick stepped forward. "He was a smart street kid," he pointed out. "He took care of himself, but if he decided to go back to that life, why didn't he take his backpack-" He nodded toward the worn bag by the door. "Or his chess set. That's his most treasured possession." He slipped his arm around Sharon's waist. "He wouldn't have left without his things. He wouldn't have left you," he said to her.

"I don't know -" She stared at the joint. "I wouldn't have thought he'd do drugs -"

"He wasn't 'doing drugs'," Nick insisted. "He got wasted one afternoon."

"But if he was in some sort of trouble...Why didn't he come to me..." She looked at Andy. "Or to you -Provenza?"

Nick tried to calm her. "Okay, that may be my fault. He's been after me to get out of here, and I keep telling him that he better be ready to step up and protect you -"

"What!?" she yelled at him again. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He shook his head. "If he were in some sort of trouble, I can imagine he thought he had to handle it himself. I just didn't think -"

"That's it, Nick! You didn't think! Again!" she spat at him.

"Hey, hey," broke in Provenza. "You gotta understand how men's minds work, Captain."

She glared at him and he took a step back.

Andy dared to speak up. "Listen, I'm the last one to defend Raydor, but I don't think you can put this all on him."

Nick rolled his eyes.

Flynn ignored him. "I know this kid pretty well, and hell, know too many women like his mother. His whole life, he's had to take care of her. That's fifteen years of training you've got to break, Sharon."

She conceded the point with a short nod.

"He's gotten into some shit with someone. And instead of bringing it to you, he thought he could handle it himself," Flynn said, frustrated.

"But who..." Sharon squared her shoulders and stepped over to the chair where Tao still sat. "Let me see that again, Lieutenant."

Tao held up the tablet for her. She slid the scroll bar down, moving the image down from the faces to the legs. She took a deep breath. "This was taken before he was attacked by Philip Stroh. There's no scar on his calf."

Provenza and Flynn leaned in to check.

"Son of a bitch," said Provenza.

Sharon's face went white. "Stroh -"

"We would have been notified if they released him on bail. I know his attorney's been petitioning the courts for weeks, but haven't heard he's gotten any judge to let him out," insisted Flynn.

"I'll double-check that," said Provenza, digging out his phone.

Sharon nodded, still staring at Rusty's bare leg.

"I say you start with his classmates," said Nick, "those are the only people he's in regular contact with, and you don't know all of them -"

"It's going to be a lot of time, and we're going to need some warrants," Tao pointed out. "I'll try to trace this caller."

"Stroh's still locked up," reported Provenza. "Not to say he couldn't get someone to go after Rusty."

Buoyed by the support of her squad and Nick, Sharon placed her hands on her hips. "Exactly. Rusty is an important material witness in a murder trial. Philip Stroh has used surrogates to perpetuate his crimes before."

There was a knock on the front door.

"I'll get that," said Nick. He hurried to the door and flung it open.

Taylor looked over his shoulder. "I seem to have misplaced my Major Crimes squad. Are they here?" he asked, his tone deadly.


	11. Chapter 11

Gathered around Chief Taylor, everyone started to speak at once.

He pointed at Sharon. "You!" he ordered.

"Sir, we're doing a quick search of Rusty's bedroom-"

"You're not at Cooper's hotel," he said indignantly.

"Sanchez, Sykes and Buzz are," she said through clenched teeth.

"I don't want the J.V. squad on this," Taylor roared. "This case is critical!"

Sharon stepped close, toe to toe. "I'll state the obvious. Britni Collins is already dead, and as tragic as that is, Rusty may still be alive-" Her voice caught. "We can't waste a single minute."

"I'll state the obvious as well," snarled Taylor. "Rusty Beck is a street kid with a unsavory background. He's probably just run off, back to his former lifestyle-"

Provenza touched Sharon's arm to stop her from saying something she'd regret. "Chief, if I may remind you, Rusty is a very important witness against Philip Stroh, another high profile case. When that one goes to trial, it'll be all over Nancy Grace's show too," he said silkily. "All those pretty young woman."

Taylor wasn't going to back down. "By Central, not my Major Crimes squad."

"_Your_ squad," hissed Sharon.

Tightening his hold on her arm, Provenza managed a smile. "Sir, let's keep cool heads. I'll take the lead on the Collins case and head over there right now. The captain and Lieutenants Flynn and Tao can follow up on our leads here-"

"You have leads?" sneered Taylor.

"We need to start questioning witnesses," said Andy. "And Tao needs to dump Rusty's phone, check his browser history-"

"Tao should be on the Collins' case," insisted Taylor. "He can dump Cooper's phone, try tracing his movements."

Nick stepped forward. "Listen, buddy, you've got a civilian witness here to your 'decision-making process' and it's pretty damn cold. May have to bring it to the attention of the proper authorities-"

"Who the hell are you?" said Taylor, noticing Nick for the first time.

"I'm the husband."

"That explains a thing or two," the chief said, glancing from Sharon to Nick.

Provenza took a deep breath. "Okay, let's regroup. Tao can head back to the station and work on both sets of phone records."

"This unit doesn't work more than one case at once. Sort of the point-solve important cases immediately," said Taylor, still stubborn. His expression softened. "Listen, I understand how you must feel."

Sharon clenched her jaw, biting back a retort.

"I'll call in someone from Sex Crimes who works Sunset. They'll probably have some good ideas about what could have happened to Rusty."

Flynn cut off Sharon before she could protest. "Captain, that was where the car was found, and it's obvious whomever lured him there is connected to his time on the street. I think it's a good idea."

"All right," she said grudgingly.

"I expect you to continue to give priority to the Collins investigation," said Taylor as he turned to go. "I want a report every hour."

Provenza closed the door quickly behind Taylor and Tao before Sharon could give a retort, but that didn't stop Nick from muttering "Prick."

Flynn regrouped. "I think we should pull that girl that Rusty was seeing out of school right now and talk to her."

"Her parents are going to want to be there," said Sharon.

Sharon folded her arms and thought for a moment. She looked around at the circle of men waiting. "I know you said you'd go over to the Cooper hotel, Lieutenant Provenza-"

"I was just talkin'. What do you need me to do?" asked Provenza.

"I think the two of you-" She nodded toward Flynn. "Should interview Poppy."

"Poppy?" asked Flynn.

"The girlfriend," explained Nick.

"Aw, that's cute," said Flynn with a smile and Sharon smiled back. Nick frowned.

Sharon paced in the foyer. "She seemed like a really sweet girl, but..."

"Teenagers are teenagers," pointed out Provenza.

"Yes," Sharon admitted. "So I think if the two of you go at her, grandfatherly types-"

Both men frowned and Nick grinned.

"Offering the understanding shoulders to lean on, against Rusty's mean ol' foster mother," said Sharon, "see if there's anything there. Any secrets she may know."

"That could work," Flynn said with admiration.

Sharon gave a bitter smile. "I sense that questioning teenagers is a lot like going at a dirty cop. Same mentality."

~*~

True to Taylor's word, a detective sergeant from Sex Crimes, Sierra Alt, was waiting for them in the squad room. She was tiny and appeared young at first glance, until another look revealed creases around her hard, weary eyes. She shook hands all around quickly.

Sharon explained: "We're expecting the Moores any minute. Their daughter was seeing Rusty; they attended a dance last week. We're hoping that he told Poppy something he hadn't shared with me."

"Sure," Sierra said with a nod.

Nick tipped his head toward the doorway. "There they are."

Flynn moved forward. "I'll separate the calf from the herd," he said.

Her dark eyes wide, Poppy accepted Andy Flynn's offer of a chair in the interview room. Outside the open door, Sharon explained what was going to happen to her parents in a low voice.

"You can come into the observation room with me and your attorney. We just want Poppy to feel as though she's speaking confidentially."

"I still don't know if I'm comfortable with this," said Poppy's mother Alice.

Dave, her husband, rumbled his agreement in the back of his throat.

"Listen," said Nick, who was standing behind them, "you've already gone through a couple teenage sons. You understand how they can be. We're not going to lie to Poppy, just make her feel comfortable enough to tell us what she knows."

Sharon glared at him over Alice's shoulder. "Thank you, Nick. Now, if you'll wait in my office-"

"What if Poppy says something which I have insight into?" he said blandly.

She tried again. "Don't you need to get to your office at the firm?"

"Already told Lola to handle things," he said, ushering the Moores toward the observation room.

Sierra Alt followed, her bright gaze missing nothing.

Once in the small room, Sharon hissed in Nick's ear, "Ten million dollars, remember? You're going to let a junior associate handle that?"

"I only hire the best," he said. "She can take care of it."

Provenza squeezed past them to leave the room, adjusting his earpiece. He entered the interview room and greeted Poppy with a warm, low voice, explaining he was a bit deaf, and would she mind speaking clearly for him.

Both men sat across from the young girl and smiled. She smiled back, seeming more at ease.

"Do you understand why we've asked you to come down here, Poppy?" asked Flynn.

"Something's happened to Rusty." Her eyes immediately filled with tears.

"It seems so," agreed Provenza, offering her a tissue. She blew her nose delicately. The older man continued: "Captain Raydor knows about his home life, but we were hoping you could tell us something about how things are for him at school."

"Nothing's happening at school," she insisted. "Everyone like Rusty! He's so funny!"

Flynn gave her another understanding smile. He pointed out, "There was a fight his first day of school-"

"Oh that." She waved her hands. "Those guys are jerks. They stay away from him now."

"Are you sure?" Provenza pressed.

"Well..."

The older men gave her concerned expressions.

"That jerk Reid said some mean things at the dance," she admitted.

Flynn pressed. "Such as?"

"He called Rusty gay because he danced the waltz with me," she said, indignant.

"How did Rusty react?" asked Provenza.

"He didn't fight again," promised Poppy. "He just sort of stood there. Seemed like he was ill even."

In the observation room, Sharon shook her head in distress.

Flynn made a note of the bully's name.

"None of the teachers seem to have problems with him? Or the priests?" asked Flynn next.

"The fathers?" said Poppy. "Goodness no! I think Father Jim, he's the boys' vice-principal, might have been worried about Rusty at first. All the students at St. Joe's come from good families-"

She blushed furiously at what she'd said.

"He's doing well in his classes?" said Provenza.

"Yes," Poppy said primly. "You can see he's had some catching up to do, but he's really smart."

"He's made friends...He made friends with you," Flynn said.

"He's so cute," Poppy said with a sigh. "I sort of chased him, I admit."

Her parents looked embarrassed. Nick grinned at Sharon.

"But he's always been really nice to me," Poppy was quick to point out. "Not a creep at all."

Provenza shifted closer. "Poppy, I've been a cop for a long time, you understand?"

She nodded, wide-eyed again.

"I've seen a lot of kids, even cops' kids, get in trouble. Guess it feels even more rebellious if the old man-that is, old lady, has a badge, you understand?"

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"So perhaps Rusty was messing around behind Captain Raydor's back. We would get it. She's pretty strict with us too."

Flynn and Provenza chuckled in unison.

Watching them on the monitors, Sharon's eyes rolled. The Moore's lawyer leaned in to whisper in Dave's ear.

"Okay," said Poppy, looking confused.

"Did Rusty have some game going on?" nudged Flynn. "Maybe a can of beer here and there?"

She shook her head rapidly.

"Some weed?" suggested Provenza.

Poppy appeared less certain before shaking her head.

Sharon spoke into the microphone.

Provenza parroted her question. "You only went to the one dance, right? That was your only date?"

Poppy seemed comfortable again. "Yes, the homecoming dance."

"You hadn't seen each other outside of class otherwise?" asked Provenza.

She looked around the room.

"Your parents aren't here," said Flynn, giving her what he hoped was a grandfatherly understanding look. "They won't know what you say here."

"Hey, wait a minute," protested Dave, "I thought you weren't going to lie to Poppy."

"It's leading her on a bit, I admit," said Sharon quickly, still watching the screens. "But you're free to tell her you were watching later-"

That shut up Poppy's father.

"Really, truly, sir," gasped Poppy. "Sure, we saw each other at my friend Baylee's house after school a couple of times, but nothing happened!"

"You never heard him talk to anyone about...Stuff happening? Perhaps that he was meeting up with some old friends?" asked Provenza.

She cocked her head. "No...He never mentioned anyone from his past. I'd asked about his real family and he said his father was a jerk and his mom was gone. That he'd just lived around. Moved a lot. It made me so sad!" The tears began to fall again.

"Sweet kid," Nick murmured in Sharon's ear. She nodded.

"No other kids? Maybe you saw him with kids you didn't know?" suggested Flynn.

"Oh no. We have a closed campus," she said definitely.

Frustrated, Sharon turned from the monitors. Nothing.

Alt spoke up. "Has the school done pictures yet? Any chance of a recent photo? I assume Poppy's got a thousand pictures of Rusty on her phone." She smiled at the parents, but her gaze remained sharp.

Sharon spoke up. "No school pictures yet, but those pictures your neighbor took before the dance would be up to date..."

"Yes, Adam just sent the proofs for us to choose from," said Alice, fumbling for her phone. "I can forward them to you."

Sharon gave her LAPD email address. "Thank you for bringing Poppy in. Usually I'm very happy to see a good kid who's not keeping secrets, but in this case, I was hoping for something-"

"I understand," Alice said, squeezing Sharon's arm. "We'll call if we hear or see _anything_."

After the Moores left the observation room, Alt asked, "Can I get a copy of that picture ASAP? I'd like to get it out to all my units who work the Sunset area. I'll also go check the car. They should have towed it into the evidence warehouse by now."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Sharon said, truly grateful. "I'll forward the photograph to you."

"I'm just going to make some calls, but I'll be here if you need me," Nick told her as they moved into the squad room.

Sharon nodded at him, and kept going to her office. She found a headshot of Rusty among the pictures and sent it to Alt's account.

Flynn entered her office and closed the door. "Sorry, Cap. Nothing."

"You can't get anything when there's nothing there," said Sharon, motioning him to sit. "if Rusty was up to something, he kept it from Poppy."

"Yeah, damn the nice girlfriends. We needed him to hook up with some skank like his mother. She would have gotten everything out of him," said Flynn, attempting humor.

She smiled in thanks before shaking her head. "Dammit!" she burst out. "I hate sitting here, feeling like his life's trickling away somewhere." Compulsively, she checked her phone again.

Andy leaned back and crossed his legs. "So what was this fight about?"

"Fight?" She focused on him again.

"The 'discussion' you had with Rusty last night."

"It's nothing to do with this." She waved her hand at him.

He lost his temper. "Listen, Sharon, I'm the investigating officer on this. You're a witness. I've got to question you too."

Finally, she nodded. "Okay." She turned in her chair to look out the window at the cloud-filled sky. Rusty would be out there without a raincoat.

"My son Brice called last night to make arrangements to come for Thanksgiving. Rusty heard the conversation."

"Feeling jealous at the 'real' son?" guessed Flynn.

She shook her head. "From what I said, he understand that Brice is gay. He jumped to the conclusion that I only took him in because I see myself as some expert on raising gay sons-that he's gay."

"Is he right?"

"Along with everything else I've been beating myself up about, I'm asking myself that too," she admitted. "Was I blind to his problems as I tried to push him into some box? Remembering everything I did wrong with Brice and compensating? Let him slip through my fingers that way?"

"What went wrong with Brice?"

"It doesn't have anything to do with this case."

"I'm the investigator, remember? Maybe it does."

She brought her shaking fingers to her mouth, in a rare sign of vulnerability which made Andy breathless.

"Brice was always a bit different from other boys. I just marked it up to his father not living in the home, and Nick being...Well, a force of his own, masculinity wise."

Out of her eyeshot, Flynn rolled his eyes.

"Brice was interested in the arts, but he did participate in sports-not your stereotype that would make a mother really wonder, you know?"

"Okay."

"When he got into USC, he asked if he would live on campus rather than stay at home. I thought it was good idea. Let me have his independence. But Nick pushed for him to join a fraternity, get some good connections." She sighed. "He was always thinking about social climbing. His son was going to have everything he didn't-"

"Yes, you said he was in a fraternity," encouraged Andy.

"About six months into the first term, we got a call from campus police. There'd been a fight, and Brice was accused of sexual assault. You can imagine-"

"Shit, yeah," breathed Andy.

"We rushed over-Nick was still in L.A. then. One of his frat brothers had gotten really drunk and he said when he came to...Brice was performing a sex act on him." Her hands squeezed together in her lap. "He beat Brice up."

"What really happened?" asked Andy, although he had a pretty good idea.

"Brice swore that it had been consensual. That this guy had been leading him on for weeks, flirting with him when no one was around...Poor boy. He finally gave in to his attraction, and the other boy freaked out on him."

"So you believed him?" Andy said carefully.

She finally turned and looked at him. "Yes, I did. Nick did too. Of course, we had to accept that Brice hadn't been honest with us before that point-he'd had the same girlfriend all through junior high and high school...A really sweet girl from our church like Poppy."

"That's a sign right there," said Andy, unable not to make a crack.

She accepted it with a painful chuckle of her own. "I felt as though he'd been lying to himself all that time too. But he was honest when he swore it wasn't an assault."

"You got it dropped?"

"Yes, the boy backed down when faced with a cop and a lawyer," said Sharon. "It was nearly summer. Brice finished his classes living at home and transferred to UCLA the next year. But-"

"It didn't just go away?"

"We asked our priest for advice." she lifted a tear-filled gaze to Andy. "You have to remember those years. AIDS was on everyone's mind. That's all you thought of when you thought of gay-death. We were scared out of our minds. Thought perhaps it was a phase..."

"Oh boy," groaned Flynn.

"We took the advice we received. There were these psychologists who claimed they could change people-"

Flynn winced.

"Yes," said Sharon, her voice low. "It was an awful, painful couple of years. As soon as he had his degree, Brice disappeared. Literally didn't contact us for five years, then very limited contact, obviously on his terms. None of the closeness we'd had when he was a child-To this day, I feel there's a barrier between us because I wouldn't accept and support him."

"Sharon, I've heard worse-" Andy leaned forward in his chair. "Look at Rusty's mother. You've never left your son at the zoo over some dick-"

"Was I any better?" she questioned. "The result was the same. Rusty didn't feel he could trust me or confide in me-"

"You have no idea why he made that choice!" protested Andy. "Trust me, his mother showed him again and again that he needed to solve his own problems. If there's more of those pictures, he was probably ashamed, profoundly. He felt like he had to clean that mess up. He doesn't sound scared in those texts. Just pissed."

She brought up her email again. Tao had sent her the pornagraphic image from Rusty's phone. She forced herself to look at it, staring at it for so long that Andy came around to her side of the desk.

Clicking back in the folder, she brought up the photographic proofs from the dance.

"What is it?" asked Andy.

Placing the pornography side by side with the picture of Poppy and Rusty, she pointed at the screen. "I don't have a lot of experience with porn-"

Andy grinned down at her.

"-but the viewers don't usually care much about artistry, do they?"

"As a man, admittedly someone who just looks at dull garden-variety porn, I can say, no."

"These boys are beautifully lit, there's filters applied and the photographer did a lot of post-production work on it-color and lighting adjustments. I've been to plenty of art photography exhibits, and this would fit right in."

"So while Rusty was on the street, he was hired by some 'artist'?"

She enlarged the pictures from the dance. "What do you think?"

Andy leaned over her to check them. "Cute couple."

"Looks like this Adam Fetter has an artistic style too. "

"Yeah," said Andy slowly.

"Makes Poppy and Rusty look very idealized, filters again, adjusting the lighting afterwards-they were all shot in the Moore's foyer," said Sharon.

"You think it's the same guy?"

"I don't want to be reaching...I don't feel like I can trust my instincts anymore," she said with frustration.

"You were there, right? How did Rusty react when he saw this guy?"

She closed her eyes, replaying the scene. "Damn, I didn't really notice. Poppy's mother was chattering, the focus was on Poppy, her dress, hair."

Andy smiled. "And that kid is pretty good at faking bravado," he pointed out.

She stared at Rusty's face in the pictures. "He looks upset, distressed."

"Yeah," agreed Andy.

"Why didn't I see that?" she asked herself.

"Sharon, he was stressed out about the dance, just like he was stressed about meeting his father. You can't read his mind."

"The next morning, he seemed really upset. Nick and I just assumed it was an emotional hangover from the dance-" She shook her head with self-recrimination.

Andy lost patience with her. "Listen, you've had teenagers. If we ever try to read their minds, we'll lose ours!"

"The stakes are too high with Rusty," she insisted.

Andy looked out through the window and into the squad room. "Tao's back," he said. "Let's have him check these photographs and see if he can determine if they were done by the same photographer."

Grateful for something tangible to do, Sharon rose. "Yes, let's."

Before she could walk out the office, Andy held her up. "Stop beating yourself up for what happened in the past," he admonished her. "We've got to look to the future, and that's finding Rusty alive and well."

"How do you know?" she said passionately, close enough that he could feel the heat of her breath.

"I guess I don't," he admitted. "But I feel like I'm getting to know you. You're gonna fight to the death on this one."

She gave a quick nod and mouthed 'thanks,' before leading the way out to the squad room.

"I wish Buzz were here. This is more his area of expertise," said Tao, as he worked on the photograph files Sharon had sent him.

"I have faith in you," Sharon said, pacing behind his chair.

"Got anything?" asked Nick as he pocketed his cell phone and came up to stand beside Tao's desk too.

"Not to be rude," Andy said rudely, "but this room is closed to civilians."

Nick raised his eyebrows. "I'm an officer of the court, Lieutenant."

Sharon waved her hand at the two men as she watched Tao work rapidly.

"There was a photographer at the Moore's house last Saturday," she told Nick. "To me, the style is similar to the image on Rusty's phone. I'm having Tao check the files to see if there's any data can tell us."

"Rusty was pretty tense Sunday morning," Nick noted.

"I thought perhaps it was just me."

"It could have just been us asking all those questions about the dance. Can't get your hopes up," cautioned Nick.

"I know," Sharon said sharply.

"It's two different cameras," Tao said, and her shoulders slumped.

Then he added, "But it's interesting. The pornagraphy is done with a Canon EOS-1D Mark IV and the dance photos with a EOS-1D X. The EOS-1D X is the newest model, what would be an upgrade. It may mean something...Or not."

"What _do_ you have for me, Lieutenant Tao," she barked, causing the detective's eyebrows to rise.

"Well, Captain, I've got a few things on the cell phone which sent this image," Tao said.

"Yes?" Sharon said, trying to temper her tone.

"It was purchased for cash at a Target store on Pico three months ago, along with some utterly innocuous products. Time has only been added once, using a minutes card, paid for with cash, again, purchased at a 7-11 on Victory...Last Saturday, at 8:26 PM. What time did this photographer take these pictures?"

"Around six," Sharon said quickly.

"Interesting," said Tao.

"This photographer probably has been leading a secret life for quite a while. Child pornagraphers don't usually let that be well known," said Nick. "He'd need a phone for this life."

"I've dumped that phone's calls," said Tao with a nod. "Not a lot of them. The first card only had one hundred minutes on it and had run out before that Saturday. Most of the calls were to other disposable phones, also using cash card purchases. I do have a few names on calls though. I'll trace those, as well as track the phone's movements."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," said Sharon, truly grateful this time.

Sergeant Alt had been listening and watching the whole time. "I'll work with you, Lieutenant, on those names. I won't be surprised at all to find they're some of the boys on Sunset. A few of them have phones in their names." She peered at the pornagraphic image. "The other boy looks familiar. I'll get some of my people out questioning the street kids about a photographer. I bet we can find someone to point him out of a lineup."

Sharon gave more thanks, beginning to feel hopeful for the first time. Alt took one of the empty desks and started making calls.

"I can tell you, if I were representing Adam Fetter, I would tell him to not come in for questioning," said Nick, frustration on his rough face.

Andy raised his chin. "We won't be bringing him in as a suspect. We have a missing child. He met Rusty last week. He may have seen or heard something. It would be a public service to speak to the authorities."

"And if he doesn't want to appear guilty, he'll show up," Sharon said with grim confidence.

She was correct. Adam Fetter sat across from her and Flynn in the interview room. His upper lip was damp with sweat and his right eyelid was twitching. For a brief moment, she had an urge to slap him to make it stop.

"Thank you for coming in, Mr. Fetter," she said instead.

"Anything to help," Adam said, his voice cracking.

This was going to be quite different from interviewing Elah Cooper, Sharon saw. Adam was in his early thirties, but looked immature with the smooth, pink cheeks and thin, wispy hair of a child. His pale, scared eyes darted around the room, and his fleshy uncalloused hands clenched on the table top.

But she couldn't be overconfident. Alt was still working her files and the streets to find witnesses. She had told Raydor that she doubted she would have anything definite until the next morning; most of the hustlers weren't out until six at the earliest.

In the observation room, Nick stared at Adam in the monitor over Buzz's shoulder. "This guy isn't a pro or a sociopath. Good. Sharon should be able to break him."

Provenza leaned against the back wall. "I hope so," he said bleakly. "She's still pretty new at this."

"She has God on her side," Nick said, causing Provenza and Buzz to exchanged shocked looks.

Sharon slid the photographs of Rusty with Poppy across the table. "This is Rusty Beck, to refresh your memory."

Adam nodded his head rapidly. "Of course. Yep. Remember him."

"Thought you might have been taking pictures of a lot of boys. They all sort of blend together, I'm sure." Sharon kept staring at Adam.

He took a deep breath as though he had forgotten to breathe. "Nope!" he babbled. "At the Moore's house! Been their neighbors my whole life."

Andy folded his arms and smirked. Adam's gaze darted in his direction, but the detective said nothing.

"Did you get a chance to talk with Rusty that night?" asked Sharon. "I was speaking with Mrs Moore and Poppy, so I didn't see." She made her tone deliberately casual, as though she were setting a trap.

Adam's eyes shifted. "No. Not really."

"Anything, anything at all that you remember," Sharon said, making her voice catch.

"I shot three couples that night," Adam said. "But Rusty seemed like a really nice boy," he added, trying to sound sincere.

Flynn finally spoke up. "He is. Tough too. A real survivor."

Adam made the odd gasping noise again.

"You all right?" Flynn asked mildly. Sharon continued to stare intensely.

"Sure!" Adam said angrily.

"Just checking," Andy said, settling back in his chair.

Sharon opened a folder on the table. "We thought perhaps you could help us identify another photographer of children then," she said, sliding a print to him.

"Of course, of course," he said eagerly, grabbing the picture. Only to give off an odd screech and drop it. "What the heck is that!?" he garbled.

Sharon glanced at the print. "It's another picture of Rusty. Do you know who took it." Her tone was sharp-edged; not a question.

Adam's eyes widened and tears gathered on the lids. Andy shifted in his chair, leaning forward. Adam's head snapped from side to side, trying to look at both of them at once.

"I...I have no idea," he whispered.

"Mr. Fetter, let me say something before we go any further," Sharon said flatly. "There is a young man missing. He could already be dead. We have evidence of child pornography. All these are terribly serious crimes. Whoever has perpetrated them is facing a life time in prison. A life which will have to be in segregation because of the nature of these crimes, meaning confinement for twenty-three hours a day, the only time outside spent in a slightly larger box for exercise."

One tear escaped from Adam's left eye, sliding across his pale, soft cheek.

"_Any_ cooperation at this point will make a difference in that outcome," she said, "if Rusty's found alive-"

In the observation room, Nick smiled. "Told you she'd get it done."

But outside the door, they heard a ruckus. Provenza cracked the door to peer out. A large, florid-faced man was ranting. "I demand to see my son! I am his attorney!"

"Oh shit," Provenza hissed.

"Son of a bitch," growled Nick.

~*~

Rusty's head hurt and felt overwhelmingly heavy when he tried to lift it in the dim room. Movement caused pain to scream through his limbs from the taser's burn.

"Shit," he moaned, rolling on the narrow cot where he lay.

He tried to rise, but discovered he was shackled by one ankle to the bed frame which was bolted to the floor. He looked around. He was in a small room with cinderblock walls on two side and plywood walls on the other two, with a heavy door across from the bed.

Struggling to sit, he finally hunched at the end of the cot, rubbing his sore head. Whatever was going on was bad-

The door opened. Rusty tried to lunge toward the man who came through the door, and then he saw the yellow taser gun in the man's hand.

Blinking, Rusty tried to make out the man's features in the darkness. He was a stranger. A misshapen, shaved head on a thick neck, with pale, tiny eyes set wide apart across a bulbous nose. His body was just on the side of flabby, but he was the one with the weapon.

"Who the hell are you?" Rusty demanded to know.

"I am the master," the man said with a reedy voice.


	12. Chapter 12

Rusty forced himself to smile at his abductor. He wriggled around to sit upright on the cot and face the man.

"Listen, I don't know what Adam told you, but I'm out of the trade, okay?"

The man blinked slowly. His eyes were flat and dull like a shark's.

Rusty took a deep breath and tried again. "I'm sure you just thought you were picking up an ass for some strap down and slap around, but you got the wrong guy." He shook his head, trying to sound sympathetic. "My foster mom is a captain in the LAPD. She leads the Major Crimes squad and any minute-" How long had he been unconscious? "-they're gonna come busting your door down."

The man tilted his head as though he didn't comprehend, but perhaps he was truly listening.

"Right now, you're looking at abduction of a minor, assault-you're gonna end up with a life sentence, do you see that? Not some slap on the wrist for soliciting sex." The man's flabby lips had twisted in disgust on the word 'sex' but he remained silent.

Frustration was coming into Rusty's voice. He had to close the deal. "But if you shove me out the door, I don't know your name, can't remember your face...I'll just go home. No harm, no foul. Okay?" There was a tremor on the last word, but Rusty couldn't help it.

The man still didn't speak. Rusty couldn't control himself anymore. "Listen, shithead, I'm really sorry that you have to tie some dude up to get a boner, but I'm not your guy!" he yelled.

"I don't want to fuck your faggy ass," the man said contemptuously, finally showing some emotion. Then he rattled through what sounded like a script: "I am your master. I hold your fate in my hands. You will die at my command."

Tears sprung to Rusty's eyes. "What part of my mom's a cop didn't you get!?" He was desperate. Something-not a man, but a _thing_-had him. He lunged off the bed; he was an animal, needing to fight his way free by any means. He thrashed at the end of the leash, clawing toward the doorway.

The man backed out of the room. As he closed the door, Rusty screamed: "You're gonna have the name Sharon Raydor branded on your guts when she shoves her badge up your ass!"

~*~

The interview room door flung open. "Dad!" Adam Fetter leapt to his feet. "What're you doing here?"

The florid-faced man glared at Sharon. She and Andy rose to face him.

"Have you read my son his rights?" Roger Fetter demanded to know.

"He's simply answering some questions about a missing youngster," Andy said smoothly.

"I'm Captain Raydor," Sharon said, extending her hand.

Fetter didn't take it. He noticed the pornographic photograph on the table. "What the hell is that!?" he roared.

"One of these young men is missing," Sharon said coolly, turning the photo so Roger could see it better. "We believe your son took the photograph."

Roger's eyes bulged and he actually appeared to be frothing as he blustered at her. "How dare you say my son is some homo!"

Over his shoulder, she saw Nick lingering in the corridor. She gave a quick shake of her head. Andy saw him too, and moved to close the door.

"Dad, listen, this is all some mix-up," said Adam weakly, sweat pouring off his pasty face.

"Are you wishing to represent your son?" Sharon said, motioning to a chair.

Andy shot her an annoyed look but she ignored him.

"You're damn right I do," ranted Roger. He perched on the edge of the chair. His gaze was drawn to the picture again and he turned it over.

Nick quickly slipped into the observation room. "Hey," said Provenza, "you shouldn't be in here."

"I'm an officer of the court," said Nick. "Representing Rusty."

"What the hell?" Buzz asked, but before Nick could answer, the younger man shushed everyone to adjust the volume level on his equipment.

Sharon was smiling, but her eyes were utterly cold. Andy had learned this wasn't a good sign when directed at him, but he had the feeling it was going to pay off when aimed at the Fetters.

She was thinking furiously, even as every other motion in the room seemed to have slowed down. A single word and flick of her eyelid could change the outcome. If only Brenda Johnson was here in her place; why hadn't she called the former investigator? She hadn't even called to see if Rusty had sought refuge at the Howard household. Surely Fritz and Brenda would have called if he had. Now she realized she hadn't because she was still angry at the way Brenda had basically abandoned Rusty, setting back any sort of trust he was forming with those trying to help him. And a big part of her wanted to prove to her squad that she could get the confession as well as Brenda Leigh Johnson.

Well, she better get on it. A child needed her.

Not looking at Roger, she said, "Adam," her voice low and flat, "we have the other boy in the picture. He can pick you out of a line-up."

Andy bit the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting. In the observation room, Nick grinned and curled his fist tight. "My girl," he said approvingly. Provenza raised his eyebrows.

"And we'll find all the other boys you have photographed. So you see," Sharon said with false sympathy, "it's pointless to not help us find Rusty."

Over the years, she'd watched contemptuously, even protested, as Brenda Johnson lied to suspects just like this. Now she knew why the other woman had done it. Under the gentle buzz of the air-conditioning and Adam's moist breathing, she felt that she could hear a clock ticking, marking off every minute passing for Rusty.

Roger shook his head with fury. "You're accusing my son of abducting some kid?"

"We're not charging him with anything," Andy pointed out. "He's a witness to a possible crime; the abduction of Rusty Beck."

"Don't say anything, Adam," advised his father.

"Fine." Sharon stood. "Our warrant should be ready by now anyway. We'll search your room in your parents' home, Adam."

The young man looked frantically at his father.

"It'd go a lot faster if you just showed us what we need to see to find Rusty," she continued as she walked to the door. "Now we're going to have to sort through _everything_." She raised her eyebrows significantly.

"I'll want to see that search warrant before you take one step into my house," demanded Roger.

"Of course," said Andy, holding the door for Sharon.

In the hall, he pulled Sharon away from the interview room. "How long do you want to give them?"

"Ten minutes, tops." She folded her arms tightly and started to pace in tiny circles. "We need that warrant."

"Yes, Captain. I'll check on it," said Andy.

Nick popped out of the observation room. "Good job," he told Sharon.

She squinted at him. "Nick, you don't need to keep hanging around."

"Not a problem." He raised his hand to stop her protests.

Chief Taylor appeared at the end of the corridor. "Captain, I want a status meeting on the Collins case, _now_."

Frustrated, she stared at the interview room door.

"The sooner you go, the sooner you can get back," said Nick, giving her arm a quick squeeze.

He ducked back into the observation room. His eyebrows raised at the sight of Buzz and Provenza watching Roger and Adam Fetter talking.

"As an attorney, I must say-"

"Hush," Provenza chided him.

Adam was pleading with his father. "Dad, I want you to know-"

"I don't need to know anything." Roger held up his meaty hand to stop his son. "Let me find out how soon we can get you out of here."

Adam slumped in his chair as Roger went to the door.

Nick popped out of the observation room to run into him. "Hey, Roger!" he said with feigned surprise, steadying the larger man.

"Do I know you?" said Fetter unpleasantly.

"Nick Raydor. Higgins, Smythe and Raydor," Nick said, his smile unwavering.

"Raydor." Roger's fleshy lips twisted. He thought. "Wait, Sharon Raydor attends St. Joe's too. Always pushing liberal causes. Nuns' _rights_," he sneered.

Nick pretended not to notice Fetter's contempt. "That's her," he said breezily.

"And you-You've represented some of those SNAP people back east," Roger said, outraged.

Nick's smile tightened. "And you've defended the Church in several cases. I'm surprised we haven't met before this."

"How can you-attack your own faith," Roger sputtered.

"I like kids," Nick said, an edge finally in his voice. "Like Rusty Beck."

"That-"

Nick cut him off before Roger could continue. "See, the wife's pretty attached to him. You know women."

Seeing the spark in Roger's eyes at that, Nick began his attack. "Representing your son?"

"Of course. This is ridiculous-"

"We really don't have a lot of time," Nick said crisply. "Let me get to the point. As a child sex offender, Adam's going to be in Ad. Seg. in prison-"

"My son's not going anywhere near a jail!"

Nick went on as though Roger hadn't spoken. "That includes no visitors. He's going to get at least a decade, probably up at Kern Valley. Class A felony-"

Roger's florid face paled.

"How's his mother going to deal with that? Hardly ever able to see her child? Hours' drive-"

"It's not going to happen," insisted Roger.

"Oh, there's surely a deal to be made, but Rusty _must_ be found alive first."

"Adam had nothing to do with this kid's disappearance!"

"How do you know that? I think you've discovered you didn't know a lot of things about Adam already," noted Nick. "Get him a real lawyer. One who can make him the best deal possible."

He looked Roger up and down. "Not someone worried about what this is going to look like in the newspapers and how it will affect his career."

He couldn't keep the contempt from his voice now. " What everyone at the Knights of Columbus are going to think."

Going sheet-white as the ramifications of what was happening sank in, Roger wavered on his feet. Nick gave him a slight push. "Why don't you go make some calls?"

Sharon appeared at the end of the hall, but he motioned her to step back so Roger could stagger by, not seeing her.

She hurried to Nick, Andy close at her heels. Andy was telling her that Sanchez and Sykes were at the Fetter home now, serving the search warrant. But she was going in blind, with no real evidence to use as for leverage.

"You don't have much time. You gotta close this," Nick urged her.

She blinked at his choice of words before he headed back to the observation room.

Sharon reached for the interview room's knob, but stopped herself, fighting for control. When this situation was resolved, she needed to apologize to every cop whose career she'd ended for beating up suspects, because she wanted to perpetrate such acts herself.

"What is it?" asked Andy.

She chewed on her words: "We need the information-now! I want to go in there and shove my gun up his ass-"

Andy looked shocked.

She squinted at him. "Please don't give me your respect right now. It's not appreciated."

Tucking his hand around her elbow, Andy pulled her closer. "Just take a walk down the hall." He jerked his head toward the closed door. "I'll do it."

She stared at his mouth for a long moment, and his breath hitched.

"Now you're gonna make me lose respect for you," she rasped.

"Good."

Nick stuck his head out of the observation room. "Get in there," he scolded. "You don't have much time."

Andy raised his eyebrows at Sharon. She squared her shoulders. "Let's do it," she said.

"Sure," he drawled, giving her a smile.

She actually managed a short laugh.

Adam's head shot up when they entered the interview room.

"Where's my father?" he asked.

Sharon sat beside him. "He's still on the phone," she said.

"I shouldn't say anything without my father here," he said petulantly.

She locked eyes with him. He dropped his gaze but not before a few tears leaked out. Her weapon burned through its holster into her hip. It would be so easy to pull it and press the muzzle against Adam's head-

"Do you want to go home?" she asked him softly.

He nodded quickly.

"You can go home, Adam."

He started to rise. Andy grabbed his hand across the table, holding the younger man in place.

"No, no," Sharon said gently. "You have to give us what we want before you can have what you want."

"But I don't know anything, I telling you!" wailed Adam.

Sharon responded as though he hadn't given his denial. "You can go home," she repeated. "Sleep in your bed tonight..."

She would lie and lie and lie; say whatever necessary to get Rusty back...

"I..."

Hearing that wavering in his voice, Sharon lay her hand over his, giving it a gentle caress. To her disgust, he clutched her fingers.

"I want to go home," he blubbered.

"We need to find Rusty," she murmured, just loud enough for Adam to hear.

"I can't help you," he whined, but there was something in his tone that didn't sound like his previous denials.

"Then just tell us what you do know," she urged.

Andy leaned forward. He heard the same thing she did.

"I won't be able to find Rusty. I don't know where to find the guy."

The relief washed over her. She closed her eyes briefly. "A name," she demanded fiercely, causing Adam to twitch.

"I'm pretty sure I don't have his real name," Adam muttered, lolling his head off to the side.

Sharon realized she had to keep the energy low-key, even as she felt her heartbeat increase. He was beginning to crack.

"So this was just a guy...Not a friend or someone close?"

Adam shook his head, his hand tightening on hers.

"Did you hook up with him online?" Sharon guessed.

He nodded.

"How do you contact him? Phone? Email?" asked Andy. Feeding off of Sharon, he kept his tone casual as though requesting the contact information for a good gardener.

Adam stared at the tabletop intently. Finally he said, "Only email." He looked frantically from Sharon to Andy. "But I deleted the email account. I was scared-"

"Don't worry about it. We have someone who can find that account again," said Andy dryly. He rose from the table.

Just then, the door flung open and a well-dressed young woman in a business suit was in the doorway, Roger Fetter behind her. "Don't say anything," she told Adam.

Sharon stood.

"Candice Cantor," the intruder said, "Representing Adam Fetter."

Sharon quickly introduced herself and Andy. "Detective Sanchez should be back with any electronics he finds in in the home," Flynn said to Sharon, ignoring the lawyers.

"Wait a minute. You don't have the right to remove anything from my home," sputtered Roger.

Continuing to bypass him, Sharon asked Adam, "Save us some time. Which device did you access the email on?"

"Don't answer that," Candice said again.

Sharon pushed past her. "Damn lawyers," she growled as Nick exited the observation room. Dismissing his outraged expression with a wave of her hand, she headed toward the murder room.

Sanchez and Sykes were sorting through boxes of evidence. "Let's start with a laptop; was there one found in Adam's bedroom?" asked Sharon.

Sykes step forward, cutting off what Sanchez was about to say. "Yes, Captain. There was also a desktop computer. Very extensive setup with double HD monitors-"

Tao was connecting the laptop to his work station. "Do we have a password?" he asked.

"He just lawyered up," Andy said with disgust.

Nick leaned on Provenza's desk. "I told Fetter to get an outside attorney for his son-"

"Well, thanks," sneered Andy.

"In the long run, it's going to speed things up," Nick said. "The father was just going to obstruct everything you tried to do. This woman will get you what you want. Trust me."

Andy rolled his eyes. "He was just starting to cooperate when the lawyer showed up."

"He said that he deleted the email account which he used to contact a man who now has Rusty. What could that be about?" said Sharon.

Provenza growled in the back of his throat.

Sanchez nodded at his senior's reaction. "I don't like that at all," said the younger detective.

"Nope," said Provenza. "I thought this guy is dumb and panicking, but if he had enough sense to lure both Rusty and some dude into a meeting-"

"I dunno," said Andy. "It all sounds so elaborate. He wanted to silence Rusty about his little hobby. So he gets Rusty to meet him and then..." He didn't finish his sentence when Provenza shook his head in warning.

"We do have a few things," announced Tao, motioning at Buzz who'd joined them. "We've checked the security cameras around the area near where Rusty's phone was found. There was a nightclub with a camera by the alley with footage of him and a man. We can't identify the man, but I'd say it's not Adam Fetter."

He cued up a video on his large monitor. The others gathered around his desk to watch it. It was washed out, pixelated video. In the streetlight, a slight figure passed; Rusty. Then another man strode by, obviously going to the alley, but checking over his shoulder before entering it. He was shorter and stockier than Adam, and had no hair.

"We go about five minutes," said Tao, moving the video forward.

The man came out of the alley and past the camera. Tao fast-forwarded again. A sedan entered the alley. Only a driver was visible. Again Tao moved it forward. The car backed out, still with only one person apparently inside.

Sanchez saw the distress on Sharon's face. "We've gone over that alley, Captain. No blood or other bodily fluids. No sign of a violent struggle."

"Can we get anything off this?" Sharon asked, leaning forward to stare at the frozen frame and the fuzzy shape of the car.

"No, Captain," said Tao. "It's a two door sedan, a darker color, but that's all. Certainly no plates."

"Dammit," she said. That clock was ticking in her head again.

Yanking out her cell phone, she called Sierra Alt.

Alt gave her report: "Sorry, Captain. I've identified the other boy in the photo as a kid named Brad Bergman, but I haven't found him yet. We've questioned what other boys are on the streets to see if any have met Adam Fetter. Nothing, but the real action won't start for hours." Her frustration was obvious.

After thanking the detective, Sharon looked through her phone directory.

"Hello, Special Agent Howard? It's Sharon Raydor. Sorry to call so early on the weekend."

She gave a quick rundown of the situation, but he still reacted with, "Fuck."

"Yes," she agreed grimly. "We need access to this man's online activities immediately. Any help the Feds could give would be greatly appreciated."

She handed the phone off to Tao so that he could give the specifics to the FBI agent.

Chief Taylor appeared. "Candice Cantor says they're ready to make a deal."

"A deal?" said Sharon. "He's going to give us the password and detail what happened?"

Taylor nodded.

Suspicious, Sharon asked, "What deal do they want?"

"We'll go into the specifics in the conference room," said Taylor, starting to move.

She held up her hand. "No damn giveaway," she protested. "From what little he's said so far, he plotted to have a child attacked and possibly murdered to hide his child pornography production! By deleting the email, he shows that he was trying to cover up the crime before we even contacted him. We're not going to buy his sob story about using poor judgement and it won't ever happen again! This guy set out to hurt Rusty with no regard at all-"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Provenza tip his head and fight a knowing smirk. Fine, that let that old dog have his day.

"Don't you agree?" she challenged the senior lieutenant.

"Yes, ma'am," he said promptly. He turned to Taylor. "Let's not assume this big crybaby isn't still plotting to get his flabby white ass out of a really tight vise."

"Do you want the boy back or not?" said Taylor.

Nick dropped his head, signaling the defeat Sharon felt.

"Let's get that password," she ground out

Candice smiled at Sharon and Taylor across the table. "Adam used poor judgment and regrets some of the decisions he made."

Sharon ground her teeth. "What does he want."

"In exchange for his full cooperation to find Rusty Beck, probation. No sex offender registry."

Taylor released a long breath. "We want Rusty back, but we can't put other children at risk. And we won't know the extent of Adam's crimes. As we continue our investigation-"

Candice's pale eyes were cold. "I understood that time was of the essence."

"Let's do it," said Sharon, cutting off Taylor's protest. He looked astonished, but nodded.

"The password," demanded Sharon.

As Sharon and Taylor hurried back to the murder room, he chastised her. "I can't believe you did that. We'll need to talk when this is done."

"We signed the agreement with Fetter for the LAPD. There's no way that little shit didn't send his 'art' out of state and country. We'll toss him to Fritz Howard when we're done with him. I'm sure the Feds will be happy to put him away."

Taylor's laugh was admiring.

Sharon gave Tao the slip of paper with the password and he began to work quickly, conferring with the FBI liaison on the phone.

Pacing with her arms crossed, Sharon's body language kept anyone from approaching her, not even Nick.

Finally, Tao called her over to his desk. His face was pale and stressed. Everyone formed a semi-circle around his desk, Nick standing closest to Sharon.

"Adam Fetter visited a number of chat room and discussion boards for men interested in underage 'appearing' boys. Most were legit, skirting along the legal lines."

Sanchez hissed angrily.

"He posted his photographs, claiming the boys were legal age."

"We'll save that for later," Sharon said, "let's move this along."

"On the Saturday that Adam and Rusty encountered each other, and the cell phone was reloaded with minutes, Adam did a search on specific types of chat rooms." Tao took a deep breath as though stopping himself from throwing up. "For men looking for slaves."

"Slaves?" Provenza asked. "What the hell? Like S&M?"

"How 1970's of you," said Flynn dryly.

"No," said Tao, "the sites he settled on weren't looking for sex slaves, but those who want to play out a fantasy to be tortured...And killed."

Her head light, Sharon sagged. Nick caught her, holding her tight against him.

"He then began an email exchange on the deleted email account, posing as Rusty. As Rusty, he said that he didn't just want to play. He wanted to be killed. The correspondent agreed to do it. The last email sets the meeting for that alley off Sunset last night."


	13. Chapter 13

Rusty's eyes burned from staring into the complete darkness, His ears rang as he listened but heard nothing, just deadly silence. As he'd pounded on the walls, the dull thump under his fist told him the room was sound-proofed.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but he'd been finally forced to urinate on the floor as far away from the cot as the restraint on his ankle would allow. His throat was swelling shut for the need of water. It had to have been hours.

Then he heard the latch turning on the door. He croaked out, "Help me!" It must be Sharon-

The now familiar stocky figure filled the dim doorway.

~*~

The van accelerated off the 210 freeway, ignoring speed limits and red lights. No police cars stopped it. Only more and more unmarked sedans joined its race through Sylmar's quiet midday streets. A red Audi brought up the rear.

Inside the van, everyone was on a phone, tense and driven. Sharon Raydor's voice was the sharpest, barking orders and questions with equal ferocity.

Just an hour ago, she had been rammed through the information gathering, pulling in the FBI to access the emails between Adam Fetter, posing as Rusty, and the man who only identified himself as X-cutioner.

They had a name and an address for her in twenty minutes, but it was too slow for her. She had spent the time reading the perverse and terrifying emails, her loathing for Adam Fetter growing with each line on the screen. He'd obviously intended for Rusty to be murdered by this man. When this was done and Rusty was safe, she'd see that bastard in prison for attempted murder.

The man who called himself X-cutioner online was identified as Howard Slovens. He was a postal worker sharing a home with his mother in Sylmar, an outer suburb of Los Angeles. He had no prior arrests or discipline issues at work. He was unmarried with no children.

Hanging onto to the seat arm for balance as the van took a sharp corner, she looked at the picture of Slovens on one of Buzz's screens. He was one of those bland, ordinary men who you'd ignore after the first glance. Perhaps you'd notice his blank, dead eyes and feel uncomfortable, unsure why. His weight and stocky built suggested he'd put up a fight.

"Any registered weapons in the household?" she said aloud.

"Yeah," Sanchez said tersely. "Two semi-automatic rifles registered to him, four handguns. Dear old mom's got another rifle in her name, although I doubt she's going to the range on the weekend."

"She's on disability," said Flynn. "I second the unlikelihood that she's packing."

"ETA on Alt's arrival," Sharon asked next.

There hadn't been time to do surveillance on the house. They'd checked with the local patrol unit, but there's been no calls to the house beyond a few call-outs for reports of minor vandalism and reports of 'kids hanging around.'

"The usual fearful old lady stuff," reported the patrol captain.

"What about the son?"

"Never seen him," the captain said with regret.

While they were still downtown, Tao had accessed all the resources available on the Slovens' house. They had gathered around his screen, squinting at the aerial views of the dwelling as well as the most recent google street view.

"Standard ranch house, single story," he said.

"Backyard fence at least eight feet high," Provenza said gloomily. "Thick shrubs and trees. We're not going to get a single sight-line inside."

"But there's no good view from the inside out either," pointed out Flynn. "Unless he's set up security cameras or booby traps."

"Ever the voice of doom," chided Provenza, although he nodded in agreement.

"No high speed internet, cable or satellite TV connected to the house. He still uses dial-up," noted Tao. "I'm going to hope that means he's not the security cameras type."

"Who doesn't even have high speed these days?" wondered Sykes.

Provenza frowned at her. "I don't."

Sykes shrugged.

Tao traced the house's outline on his screen. "I"m going to assume it follows the general layout of these houses. Living room at the front, kitchen on the back, bedrooms off on this wing."

"Rusty's in one of the bedrooms?" Sharon suggested.

Tao flipped up another tab on his browser to the county's utilities database. "This house is different from your common California ranch-style home. Rather than being on a poured slab, it has a basement."

"Oh, that's not good," growled Provenza. "Nothin' good happens in basements."

"Do we have any idea where the basement access is?" asked Sharon, ignoring the senior detective's gloomy viewpoint.

Shaking his head with regret, Tao said, "Not at all."

"We're just going to have to swarm this place through the front door," said Sanchez with quiet certainty. He looked to Taylor and Fritz Howard who stood at the back of the room, watching silently. "With as many bodies as we can get."

"I can give you at least six men," Fritz said. "I'll have them ready in ten."

"But if we go in through the front door," protested Flynn, "those aren't good odds to Rusty's survival."

"We'll send a decoy to the front door first," decided Sharon. She nodded at Sierra Alt. "You appear non-threatening. Let's put you is as flower delivery. Can't use a postal delivery, dammit."

"Yes, Ma'am," said the younger woman.

"We can't give you a bulletproof vest," said Sanchez, worry in his dark eyes.

"I know. No problem," Alt said, her resolve hardening her voice.

"I'll outfit you with a camera," said Buzz, leading Alt away.

"All right, how many bodies can we get?" asked Sharon. "If we're going through the front door, let's flood that house. It's only one guy. We can get him before he harms Rusty."

Everyone straightened, as if on review for their drill sergeant. "Yes, Captain," they said.

As all the detectives began their preparations to move out, Nick, who'd been watching from across the room, joined Sharon in her office. She was changing her heels for a pair of running shoes she kept in a desk drawer. She was just thankful she'd worn slacks today rather than her usual skirt.

"I want to come," Nick announced.

"Forget it."

"When you find him, I want to be there."

She twisted her mouth in a smirk as she finished tying her shoelace. "You and Rusty are hardly the closest of chums. I doubt it's you whose arms he'll want to run into."

"I want to be there for you," Nick simply said.

Her eyes had swam for the briefest of moments before she was able to blink the tears away. "He could still be alive."

Nick didn't reply, only took her elbow and gave it a squeeze.

She had checked her weapon and added another clip to the holster. "You follow in your own car. Sykes will be your contact. She's setting the parameter with SIS in a two block radius to the house. You'll stay there, in your car, until the scene is cleared."

"Yes, Captain," Nick had echoed.

The van's driver eased the vehicle up to the curb around the corner from the suspect's house. "Alt is thirty seconds out," Flynn told Sharon after listening to the latest report on his earpiece. He began putting on a bulletproof vest and she followed suit.

On the monitor, they watched the small delivery van with FTD on the side pass them and pull into the Slovens' house's drive.

"I don't like that she's going on without a vest," Sanchez said again, fastening his as well.

"She's accepted the risks," said Provenza sharply, glaring at the younger detective.

Sanchez met his superior's gaze levelly. "Yes, sir."

"Let's keep our heads clear," demanded Sharon, watching the screen as it went live with Alt's view from the miniature camera hidden in her Bluetooth earpiece. The young woman removed a Thanksgiving-themed flower arrangement from the back of the van, keeping the door closed far enough to obscure the presence of three SIS tactical officers in full gear and armed with assault rifles.

Behind Sharon, Tao kept a running tally of the forces moving into place. "Van's in the alley, four aboard. Posing as electrical workers. They'll go in through the back on our signal. Sykes has two armored vehicles on the parameter, ready to roll. Twelve total there. LAPD helicopter is staying half a mile out, but will move in when necessary. Special Agent Howard has his men in four cars, ready to enter the street on our signal." Tao checked another view of the street on Buzz's monitors. "Swann's food delivery van has another three inside. We're ready." His normally level voice cracked.

Sanchez slammed a magazine into place on his rifle. His hand on the van's door handle, he prepared to charge out.

"She's at the door," Buzz said unnecessarily as they watched Alt ring the doorbell, balancing the flower arrangement.

The tolling bell rang inside the house, echoing as though the rooms were empty. Alt quickly glanced over her shoulder, but then rang the bell again. When she heard an old woman's voice inside weakly call out, "Coming," she waved her free hand behind her back to stop any move from the waiting force.

The door cracked open and she put on her best sincere smile. "Delivery for Beverly Slovens," she said, keeping her voice high and lighter than its usual authoritative register.

"Me?" said the old woman, blinking at the bright afternoon sun. She was barely five feet tall, and in a garish housedress which overwhelmed her frail figure. Her skinny shins were an unhealthy gray color but she wore bright green fluffy slippers.

Alt made a show of checking her small clipboard, keeping her head at an angle so those in the van could view the foyer behind Beverly Slovens.

"Damn, too dark," grumbled Tao.

"Says right here, Beverly Slovens," said Alt. She smiled again. "Must be you."

"Who's it from?" asked the old woman, still unsure.

"Howard Slovens. Your husband?" asked Alt.

Beverly blinked behind her large thick glasses. "Goodness no. Ralph's been dead for years. Howie's my son."

"What a good boy," said Alt, still trying to see over the old woman's head.

"He'd never do anything like this," grumbled the old woman, stubbornly remaining in the doorway.

"Is he home? We can check. I'd hate to give the flowers to the wrong person-"

"I guess. He doesn't like to be bothered when he's busy," mumbled Beverly. Then she caused Alt to jump when she suddenly screeched over her shoulder, "Howie! Get out here!"

The detective slipped her clipboard into the back of her pants' waist, next to her weapon's holster. Balancing the flowers on her palm, she readied to toss them aside.

Finally she heard shuffling, heavy footfall approaching the door. "What'd ya' want, Mom?" whined a man's voice.

Beverly waved her hand at the arrangement in Alt's hand. "Did you order these?"

The man came into view, but was blocked by Beverly's slight frame. He blinked slowly, like a dull-witted steer. His face was covered with sweat and Alt swore she could smell fresh blood.

"What?" he repeated.

"These flowers," squawked his mother. "Did you order them for me?"

"What would I do that for?" he sneered, not looking at Alt.

She said, "Are you Howard Slovens?" which drew his attention. He blinked once and she felt a chill at his death stare.

Her shoulders tensed, ready, but the apparently laggard man suddenly moved very fast. He shoved his aged mother at Alt, spun, and escaped back into the house.

Curses broke out in the van as they watched Alt grapple with the screaming, sobbing old woman. But then there was the flash of a 9 MM pistol in Beverly's hand, and Sanchez flung the van's door open at Provenza's roar, "Gun! Gun! Gun!"

He leapt out, joining the SIS squad coming out the flower delivery van. The sound of chopper blades filled the air, and thundering feet as more armed officers poured out of their hiding places.

But above it all, they heard the gunshots, one after another.

Sharon ran across the Slovens' expansive lawn. Something brushed past her and she realized it was Andy moving in front of her. Glancing behind, she was saw she was at least outrunning Provenza.

She rounded the heavy shrubs obscuring the house's entrance and discovered the scene. With her good arm, Alt was dragging the old woman from the doorway by the collar of her housecoat. Blood streamed from her other arm. She tossed Beverly into a flower bed beside a figurine of St. Francis like she was a bag of garbage. "Gun secured," she announced with disgust as she kicked the small handgun well out the woman's reach.

The old woman let an amazing string of profanity and anti-government rhetoric loose, but everyone ignored her. Flynn pulled Sharon back against the wall out of range from the dark, curtained windows of the living room and bedrooms on the front of the house. "Let them secure the scene first," he warned her.

The SIS officers moved into the dim foyer, Sanchez at their heels.

Provenza stood over Beverly. "Where's the door to the basement?"

"What'd you need that for?" she whined, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hands. "You fucking cops!"

"Sonny has kidnapped a teenage boy, that's why!" yelled Provenza. "The door!"

Beverly stuck out her jaw and clacked her dentures. "I don't know what you're talkin' about!"

Provenza turned away in disgust.

Sanchez stuck his head out. "No sign of anyone from a quick sweep, but I think we have the door to the basement."

"Let the guys in full gear go down first," Andy advised, grabbing Sharon's arm as she lunged forward.

Sanchez nodded and disappeared back into the house. Sharon and her men followed, their weapons raised. Andy flicked on every light he could find as they moved through the dingy rooms to the kitchen. Even with the house full of armored troops, it was eerily silent. The buzz of flies circling the pile of dirty dishes in the sink was loud. Sanchez tipped his head toward the door by the worn formica topped dining table. Sharon nodded.

The first SIS officer kicked the door open and plunged down the dark stairs, his weapon's light cutting a blue beam through the stale air. Five more followed, trying to create shock and awe with their thundering boots and clanking armor.

Ignoring Sanchez and Flynn's protests, Sharon followed close behind, stumbling down the narrow, steep stairs into the basement.

One trooper, his face blackened, approached. "There's no exits, Captain. Only another room." He jerked his head toward a barred heavy door to a small room constructed in the large basement's corner.

"Search all this shit," she commanded, sweeping her arm at the piles of junk and boxes which filled the rest of the basement. "And get that door open."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"It's bolted with a key," said another officer. "No sign of it."

"Ask, the mother," Sharon said. Her limbs trembled with tension. "Get it open!"

Sanchez clattered back up the stairs on the mission. Outside the house, the ambulances were beginning to arrive. "Her first," he ordered the EMT, pointing to Alt. "This woman can wait," he added, meaning Beverly Slovens, who lay in a sobbing pile among her chrysanthemums.

The paramedic appeared surprised but followed his command.

"Mrs. Slovens," Sanchez said, "where's the key to the room in the basement?"

"I don't know anything about a room in the basement," she wailed.

"There's a room with a locked door," he rasped. "The boy's in the room. You have to know!"

"I don't know nothin'!" She fell over, her wet cheek covered with garden loam.

Disgusted, Sanchez hurried to Tao at the van. "We need a torch."

"The SIS will have one in their main command vehicle," Tao said, getting on the radio to the assault squad's captain.

Nick craned his head to watch the helicopter circling the neighborhood. Damn, he hated this waiting. All those years, he'd been grateful Sharon had served in Internal Affairs. Very few of these sort of operations, which mean fear-filled nights for the spouses.

Another ambulance passed. He supposed he should go to the house and see if Rusty was coming out and needed him...He'd opened the car door when he noticed a mail delivery man striding down the street, his mailbag swinging. Normally this wouldn't catch his attention but the man was breathing heavily, and there was no sign of his truck anywhere on the block. Cursing that his glasses weren't on, Nick ambled closer to get a better look. He'd only seen a brief glance of the suspect on the computer monitor, but he'd be able to see if this mailman fit Slovens' general description.

The man appeared to be bald like Howard Slovens under his pith helmet but his eyes were covered by black aviator sunglasses, obscuring his appearance.

Nick stopped him with a friendly smile and blocking his path.

"Hey, what the heck's goin' on down there?" he asked, waving his hand toward the activity. "I'm trying to get to my daughter's house and the cops won't let me through."

The mailman's face was running sweat. The day was not that hot. Nick watched his own reflection in the glasses, keeping his smile easy and non-threatening.

"Something wrong?" he asked, sounding concerned. "Bag too heavy?"

Slovens swung at his head, catching Nick off-guard and knocking him to the pavement. His skull bounced on the concrete. He saw stars. The heavier man fell on him, grabbed his hair and used it to slam his head repeatedly on the sidewalk. All the time, Howard was utterly silence.

Nick tried to cry out, but no one had been outside their homes or walking the street in the moments before the attack. He cursed, remembering Sharon mocking him that no one walks in LA. He'd be killed here in broad daylight, and no one would see a damn thing.

Because Howard Slovens, driven by homicidal fury, was overpowering Nick, already at a disadvantage flat on his back. He couldn't get his feet under him to flip Howard off. In the way of such traumatic moments, everything slowed to single frames of a film. He remembered his children's faces, the tilt of Sharon's head as she tried to hide her smile from him, the way Rusty watched her with such need in his gaze...He had to overcome this bastard. With a growl, Nick twisted his shoulder to block the blows raining down and managed to get one hand around Howard's throat. Then the film stopped, and there was a gun in his face.

Sharon shoved aside the protesting officer working the blowtorch and yanked open the door. "Light!" she demanded.

Flynn shone a floodlight over her shoulder into the room. A body lay in a pool of blood, its leg, shackled to a steel cot bolted to the floor, was twisted at an unnatural angle.

"Rusty!"

Her strangled cry made Andy flinch and the light danced, before focusing on Rusty's body again. She rushed forward, ignoring his warnings to secure the room first.

So much blood...She gathered up the boy's limp form to her, kneeling in the carnage. His chattering teeth gave her hope.

Smoothing back his damp bangs, she called out to him. "Rusty, we're here. I'm here."

"I-hurts," he mumbled.

"Yes, yes," she said, feeling over his bare chest for the wound and finding a deep slash at his side. Her fingers explored, and she was relieved to find it was just a cut, not a stabbing. They must have arrived just in time to interrupt Slovens' attack. As she struggled out of her jacket and pressed it to the injury, she remembered one email, where the X-cutioner said he would mark Rusty like Jesus before taking his life; this was the spear to the side.

"Get EMT's down here!" she yelled.

More light flooded the room. Rusty blinked at the brightness. Sharon leaned over him, shielding his sensitive eyes. "You're safe now," she promised him.

"Mom..."

His parched lips formed more words, but she couldn't hear them. He was obviously hallucinating in his distress. But she wouldn't correct him.

Holding him close, she responded, "Yes, Mom's here. You're safe."

Andy's hand settled on her quaking shoulder. "Paramedics are here, Captain."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," she choked out and rose, her knees cracking. Rusty clutched her hand as his eyelids drifted shut.

The two emergency responders pulled in a gurney and their large boxes of equipment, making the room very crowded.

"I want to go to the hospital with him," she said, even as she relinquished Rusty's hand to the first paramedic.

"Yes, Ma'am," he agreed. "Let's stabilize him first. I'm going to say dehydration and blood loss-" The two men began to quickly assess and treat Rusty's condition.

Sharon stepped out the room, wiping her bloody hands on her slacks.

Sanchez bounded down the stairs. "The dog's got this guy's scent."

Determined once again, Sharon said, "I'm coming. I want to be in on this arrest."

"Captain, I don't think that's a good idea," said Provenza, but only got her laser glare as a reply before she ran up the stairs.

Her detectives spread out across the spacious lawns as they followed the trail through the neighborhood. She trotted down the sunny, empty street after the police dog and its handler. Her gun drawn, clothes and bulletproof vest covered in blood, she earned the shocked stares of the few homeowners who'd started to come out to see what all the fuss was about.

The dog began to bark frantically.

She saw a red Audi, its door standing open. Two men grappled on the sidewalk. One, in a mailman's blue shorts, stood over the other. He had a gun. A gun, a gun, a gun-

"Drop it!" she screamed. "Drop it now!" Passing the dog handler who was still fumbling for his weapon, she kept focused on the mailman's head. She should aim for the torso, but she couldn't risk hitting Nick.

"Drop it or I'll shoot!"

Howard ignored her. His finger tighten on his gun's trigger and she fired. The air went red in a horrific blossom, bright as the flowers in his mother's garden.


	14. Chapter 14

Sharon handed her weapon to an unfamiliar FID detective. "Only one shot fired," she said flatly. "One in the chamber. I placed the safety on."

Nodding, he carefully placed the service piece in a plastic evidence bag.

Hunched over on the sidewalk, Nick barked, "You didn't shoot him. He shot himself."

"That will be determined-" she snapped back.

Since Sharon wasn't listening to him, Nick addressed Flynn. "He had the gun on me, then we heard her order to drop it, and he must have known he only had time for one shot. He took it for himself."

Flynn flipped back the sheet on Howard's body. "Hard to say. Most of the head's gone. We'll be able to see more once he's cleaned up-"

Nick grimaced and used a cloth provided by the EMT to wipe more of the brain matter and blood from his own face. The paramedic parted Nick's hair on the back of his head and peered at the lumps forming.

"You'll need a CAT scan," the young woman said, gaining a grumble from Nick.

Sanchez stood beside Sharon to gauge her height, then moved to the spot she'd been standing when she fired. Tao gave him the laser which the younger man held like a weapon.

Tao used his viewfinder to seek the location of Sharon's bullet. "I think it may have struck the side of that house," he said, pointing to a tan stucco structure across the street.

"Even if it wasn't the kill shot, I discharged my weapon," said Sharon stubbornly.

With a groan, Nick stood. In her eyes, he could see that blankness what came when she retreated behind an emotional wall. When he shook his head in disgust, it throbbed.

"Son of a bitch," he growled.

"Sir, let's put you on this gurney," said the paramedic.

"Hell, no," said Nick. "I'll drive myself to the hospital-"

Andy turned his back on the argument which ensued. By now, Tao, boosted by Sanchez, appeared to be digging a bullet out of the side of the house while an old woman in a flowered housecoat protested from her front stoop.

Sykes hurried from the direction of the Slovens' house. "Captain, I think we determined how he got out of the house."

"Good," Sharon ground out. "We can't have those sort of mistakes happen again. He could have escaped.." She watched Nick stalking toward a waiting ambulance, still refusing any aid from the hovering paramedics. "Someone could have been killed." Then she looked down at the sheet-draped body. "Someone _was_ killed."

Joining the chastised junior squad member, Provenza muttered, "That's the sort of taking justice into his own hands that I approve of."

He spoke louder: "Captain, they're bringing Rusty out. He's ready to go to the hospital."

"I want to be in the ambulance with him," she said.

The FID investigator lifted his head from examining the bullet fragment which Tao had brought to him. "Captain, you can't leave the scene-"

"You heard my husband. I didn't shoot Slovens. I'm going," she rattled off, turning away. She came face to face with Provenza.

The older man raised his eyebrows. "The rules don't apply to you?" he asked with a deadly casual manner. He'd been waiting a long time for this moment. Regardless how his attitude had changed toward Captain Raydor, he was going to take it.

She brushed past him. He called after her retreating back, "And next time, let Sanchez take the kill shot. That's what he's here for!"

Obviously ignoring him, she jumped in Nick's car. Provenza shook his head. Speaking as though she were still there, he added, "We need you, and we don't have you if you're under investigation."

Lieutenant Flynn watched her drive away. "Uh, I think I better head to the hospital too."

Provenza exploded. "Oh Christ! This isn't high school!"

"What're you talkin' about?" Andy said, his jaw clenching.

Muttering under his breath, Provenza stalked over to appease the still protesting FID investigators.

Forcing himself to listen to Sykes' report, Andy remained on the scene.

~*~

When two doctors came out of Rusty's hospital room, Sharon's head shot up. She'd been replying to the various tense texts from Taylor and her squad.

Rusty had been in unresponsive state for the entire ride to the UCLA Medical Center and she was desperate to know his status. But the younger doctor suggested, "Why don't we speak for a few minutes before you see Rusty?" instead.

Sharon reluctantly followed them to a small conference room. "How is he?" she asked after refusing the seat offered her.

The first doctor skirted her question. "I'm Doctor Yan," he said. "I've examined Rusty's physical injuries. We've sutured the cut and put him on a course of antibiotics. He tore some ligaments in his hip struggling against his bounds. Besides that, he's got burns from being tasered. But he's young and healthy. I expect a quick recovery."

"I'm Doctor Baker," said the other man, taking the time to shake Sharon's hand. "I've been assigned as Rusty's therapist."

Sharon turned her attention to Yan. "The knife wound isn't that serious?" she asked. "There was so much blood..."

"It was only superficial," Yan said. "I was concerned the attacker may have cut into the fascial layer but that was not the case."

"He'll be uncomfortable for a while though," said Sharon numbly, unable to get the image of Rusty's torn body from her mind.

"Yes, he'll have to be careful not to pull the stitches out. Does he play any sports?"

"No...Just some pickup basketball with my husband." She pulled a tissue from her pocket and quickly wiped her nose.

"Why don't you take a seat?" said Baker.

"I'd really like to see Rusty now," she insisted.

Yan said, "I need to get on with my rounds. Please feel free to contact me with any questions." He left her alone with Baker.

"Just a few minutes," said Baker, barring the door with his bulk.

Struck by a wave of weakness, she collapsed in a chair. "How is he?" she asked.

Baker got right to business. "There's no physical signs of sexual abuse. When I asked Rusty directly, he said no, but he seems very reticent on the topic."

"Yes." Her head drooping, she nodded.

"Perhaps you can help us with that."

"I don't know if he'll talk to me."

Baker's blue eyes sparkled behind his thick glasses. "I bet he will."

"I'll try," she said.

Baker checked his watch. "We're only a few hours from an extremely traumatic experience. From the overview I've received, he's suffered repeated such traumas in the past few years. He may choose to process this and push it away with the others, or use it as the one which opens a door."

The doctor peaked his fingertips. "I'd be happy to confer with his regular therapist."

Sharon was forced to admit, "He doesn't have one."

The knowing gaze missed nothing. "I see."

"I should go to him now." Sharon struggled out of the chair.

"Of course." Baker rose as well. "I'll be back in to see Rusty this evening."

But outside the conference room, Sharon was accosted again, this time by Taylor. "Captain, we need to talk," he said, standing between her and Rusty's room.

"Chief, I'm sorry, but I'm going to see Rusty and assess his status. We must assure that he'll be ready for his testimony." She surprised herself at how level her voice sounded.

She started to push past Taylor and he took her arm. She looked down at it and he drew back his hand. "Captain-Sharon. I understand what you're feeling; I have a boy of my own."

"With all due respect, I doubt that you do understand," she said clearly. "If you'll excuse me-"

"This isn't over, Captain," he said.

She didn't look back. Nick was sitting outside Rusty's door and looked up questioningly as she approached. "Everything okay?" he asked with a nod toward Taylor.

"It'll be fine," she said with the tone which broached no argument.

He shrugged, seeing there was no point arguing with her.

Her hand on the door handle, she peered at him. "How are you?"

"Nothing's wrong," he said, dismissing her concern. "Go see Rusty. I'm heading home to clean up-" He looked down at his blood-stained clothes, then to hers. "I'll bring you some clean things, okay?"

She fished his car keys out of her pocket and thanked him, suddenly aware of how awful she must look and smell. She pulled off her jacket, stiff with dried blood. "Take this. I don't want to freak Rusty out all over again."

He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "I'll be back soon. And I'll bring Rusty clothes too. Maybe they'll let him go home today?"

Emotion suddenly breached her walls. "I-I don't know. We'll just have to see."

Cradling her face with his palm, he kissed the corner of her quivering mouth. "Go in there and find out," he murmured. "I'll be back soon."

She could only nod quickly as a reply. As Nick walked to the elevator, she took a few deep breaths to clear her head and wiped her eyes with her tattered tissue.

Pushing open the hospital room door, she slipped in. Rusty lay on the bed, his pale face blending into the pillow. His eyes were closed.

She crept up and took the chair behind him. The scrape of the legs on the floor made his eyelids fly open.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, grasping his hand.

His tense fingers wrapped around hers and her smile trembled.

"'s 'kay," he mumbled.

She poured him a cup of water and he drank thirstily.

"Really dry," he explained.

She examined the I.V. nervously. "They're hydrating you."

He handed the cup back. "Thanks," he said, his voice sounding clear and strong again.

Blinking his eyes, Rusty stared at the bloodstains on her blouse. "Are you hurt?"

Confused, Sharon looked down. "Oh-No. Some of it's from you." Her smile became stiff.

"Who's the rest of it?" he asked.

"His name was Howard Slovens. Did you know that?"

"No. He didn't introduce himself, except as the master or some bullshit." Rusty leaned back into the pillows and focused on the ceiling. "Better take my statement. I can feel the pain pills taking effect."

"Your statement?" She noticed his chin quivering. This was how he was going to maintain control.

Fumbling in the bedside table, she found a small notepad and a pen. "I'm ready," she said, "start at the beginning."

"The night of the dance. That guy who took my picture with Poppy-"

"Adam Fetter?" she said.

Rusty half-rose from the bed. "You found out about him in a day?"

"Yes, Rusty. We've all been working very hard to find you," Sharon said, her voice choking.

"Wow," he whispered. "Okay, yeah, he started bugging me on the phone. I thought I could go meet him and tell him to f-off."

She put down the pen. "Rusty, why didn't you come to me? Talk to me what was going on?"

His gaze shifted to the wall. "I...I didn't want you to think I was too much trouble."

She started to protest.

"And Nick said it was my job to take care of you. I didn't want to bring more problems around."

Pursing her mouth, she picked her pen back up. "But when you got to the alley, it wasn't Adam waiting."

"No, that other guy showed up. Howard?"

She nodded.

"He tazed me and there wasn't anything I could do. Who the hell was he?"

"Adam Fetter found him in a chat room and posed as you to lure him to the alley."

"What a-"

"Yes," agreed Sharon. "Don't worry. We'll take care of Adam."

"Will I have to testify in that case too?" asked Rusty, sounding hopeless.

"We'll see about that," she said. "His father's a prominent attorney. They've already gotten a deal out of the LAPD for our charges to be able to find you-"

"I bet that didn't make you happy." Rusty smiled for the first time since she had come into the room.

She sat up straighter. "I wanted to find you, safe and sound."

He nodded.

"But now he faces Federal charges for child pornography and murder for hire," she explained.

"The pictures." Rusty began to twist his sheets tightly in his fists.

"We'll see what Fritz Howard can do about those," she said, pain slicing through her heart at his obvious distress.

Then the knife turned to jealousy when he glanced up. "Fritz? Did Brenda help too?"

"No. I didn't hear from her," Sharon said jerkily.

"Oh." Rusty processed what she'd said so far. "But you were able to trace this Howard guy."

"Yes." She put aside her pen again. "Rusty, did he abuse you? I mean, beyond the injuries we see?"

"You mean sex?" Rusty asked

"Yes." She held her breath.

"No, I figured out pretty quick that wasn't his thing. I'd met guys like him before. They get a hustler because we can be bought for a couple hours. But they don't want sex. They'll call you a fag and a cocksucker, really put the hate on. They just want to nearly kill you."

Sharon's hand flew to her mouth to keep from crying out.

"Yeah, just like that. Choke you, hand over the mouth, or around the neck. Their thrill is going right to the edge. Sometimes, yeah, that would turn them on, but it wasn't me. It was the part where my face turned purple." His affect was flat and emotionless, as though he was telling her about his history class lecture.

Grabbing his chilled hand, she brought it to her lips. "No one will ever hurt you again, Rusty," she promised.

"Did you kill him for me, Sharon?" he asked.

She didn't like his tone at all. They were on that cliff above the Hollywood Bowl again, and she had to keep him from tumbling off into the dark night.

"No, Rusty, I didn't. He killed himself because he was a coward. A coward who'd abduct a child and tie him up. Who'd want to kill another person to feel strong.:"

"Okay," Rusty said blankly. His fingers slipped from hers.

There was a knock at the door. "Yes," called out Sharon.

Nick poked his head in. "Good time?"

She looked at Rusty. He wagged his head in an unenthusiastic welcome.

"Come on in," she said.

Nick offered her a small duffle bag.

"How ya doin', kid?" he asked Rusty as she looked through it and put the young man's clothes in a drawer.

"Fine," said Rusty, then peered closely at Nick. "You look sorta beat up too."

Nick shrugged. "The nurse said you could shower in the bathroom if you want," he told Sharon.

The idea sounded utterly fantastic. "Will you be all right?" she asked Rusty.

"I'll keep him company," protested Nick.

She kept looking at Rusty. He managed another rare smile. "I'll be fine," he assured her.

In the bathroom, she turned the shower to boiling hot and stripped her caked, dusty makeup and her soiled clothes off before pinning up her hair. Under the water, she could finally let tears fall, knowing they could not be seen or heard.

"Knife wounds are a bitch," Nick said conversationally to Rusty.

"It itches."

Rusty watched Nick shift uncomfortably in his seat. Understanding dawned. "Oh Jeez, you managed to get yourself into the rescue too? Gonna show Sharon what a great guy you are?"

"I did not," corrected Nick. "I was sitting in my car, just like she told me to."

"Why were you even there?" grumbled Rusty. "You stick your nose in shit like no one I've ever met."

"I thought she might need some support. They didn't know if you'd still be alive when she went through that door."

Rusty rolled his eyes. "So your shoulder was gonna be there to cry on."

"It didn't work out that way." Nick rolled his neck, wincing.

"You didn't stay in the car," Rusty pointed out maliciously.

"I saw a mailman! Thought it might be the perp!"

Rusty' s trap had been sprung. "So you were trying to be a hero?"

Nick hunched his shoulders. "Bastard beat the shit out of me."

Rusty wanted to laugh at the older man, but for some reason he heard himself giving Nick a ready excuse. "That bastard was pissed off that he missed out on killing me. He needed to kill someone."

"Lucky for all of us, he offed himself instead," said Nick with satisfaction. "Wouldn't have been good for Sharon at all if her bullet had done the job."

"She shot at him?" Rusty asked. "She didn't tell me that."

"Don't tell her that I told you," Nick fussed, glancing at the bathroom door. The water had stopped running.

Rusty crossed his arms. "I'm not going to keep any secrets from her again," he said smugly.

Nick's dark gaze bored into him. "For today."

Before Rusty could give his retort, there was another knock on the door. It was Doctor Yan. As Sharon came out refreshed, he examined Rusty's sutures and checked his temperature.

"It's a little high, and the wound area's inflamed," he reported. "I'd like to keep Rusty overnight for sure."

"I want to get out of here," Rusty said, suddenly desperate and urgent.

"I'll stay," Sharon announced, sitting back down.

Nick turned to the doctor.

"I don't think that's a good idea-" said Yan. "I'd like to see you both have some rest."

Rusty met Nick's gaze over his doctor's shoulder. "Yeah, Sharon. You need to go home and sleep in your bed."

"I-" The exhaustion was obvious in her voice, but she fought on. "I don't want to leave you here."

"Listen, I'll go get some dinner for you guys. No hospital food. After that, Rusty will be out all night on pain meds, right?" Nick said to the doctor.

"Pretty much," said Yan.

Sharon reluctantly agreed and began to confer with the doctor about Rusty's after care. Nick took the chance to lean over and murmur to the young man, "Good job, kid."

*

Nick was cleaning up the dinner containers when Doctor Baker arrived. Rusty stiffened in his bed at the sight of his therapist. Sharon watched his reaction, her mouth pursing in thought.

"Kinda busy right now, Doctor," Rusty said, waving his hand around the room.

Nick introduced himself.

"Ah," Baker said at hearing he was Sharon's husband, making Nick's brow furrow.

Sharon stood. Her voice rang out, getting all of the men's attention. "Nick, why don't you go get the car and I'll come down front."

Nick opened his mouth, then closed it. "Sure."

"Doctor, if you could give us a few minutes, I'm going to chat with Rusty," she said crisply.

Now Rusty looked worried at the doctor leaving the room, but he was stuck in the hospital bed.

Sharon sat back down beside him and smiled. He found no reassurance in that expression, or when she said, "I need to apologize to you, Rusty."

"Nothin' you have to be sorry about," he babbled. He sensed where this was going.

She went on relentlessly. "I've failed you, Rusty. When you first moved in and I mentioned that you should see a therapist, I should have put my foot down. But I'd had a bad experience with a psychologist and my son..." She took a deep breath. "And I let that blind me to the obvious."

"But I don't wanna-"

"How this working out for you, Rusty?" she said sharply. "When confronted with Adam, you decided to deal with him like you were still on the streets. Seems like you're stuck in a destructive cycle."

Rusty sank into the bed and crossed his arms, his lower lip protruding sulkily.

She stood again. "You'll speak to Doctor Baker this evening and I'll get a referral from him for a regular therapist."

Rusty started to protest.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I love you," she whispered in his ear.

His mouth fell open comically with shock. She used this as cover for her escape. He fumbled with something to say, he finally croaked, "Me too."

At the door, Sharon turned back. "Good. And goodnight, Rusty."

"Night," he said as she ushered Doctor Baker into the hospital room.

*

Right inside her front door, Sharon dropped her purse and the small duffle with her dirty clothes.

Nick shuffled in behind her, tossing down his car keys. He checked his watch. "Time for some more aspirin."

"Did the doctor give you anything stronger?" Sharon asked as she toed out of her running shoes.

"Nope. Just a mild concussion after all the tests. Head's still ringing like a bell," he complained. He headed for the bedroom and she followed him, keeping her eye rolling out of his sight.

She decided to humor him anyway. "Let me look," she said, sitting on the end of the bed and patting the mattress beside her.

Still grumbling, Nick said beside her. She parted the thick hair on the back of his head and found the bumps and contusions. "Oh my," she said, truly surprised. She pressed one.

"Ow," he complained pathetically.

"Good thing your skull's so thick," she noted. "Or there could have been some real damage here."

She expected him to make an equally smartass reply, but he only humped up his back like a turtle retreating into its shell. He twisted away on the bed.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, she held him close. "Oh, but your pride was hurt?" She was unsympathetic. "God, Nick, You can't be the hero this time. I'm the cop."

"It's not like that," he mumbled, focusing on his balled fists on his knees. "It's just...I have always been able to take care of myself in a fight. Even in 'Nam, I didn't ever think I was going to die.

But there was this moment, laying there on the sidewalk where I felt like that was it. I just wasn't strong enough to get that guy off me, and he had that gun on me-"

Her hand went from his shoulder to wrap around his neck and pull his heavy head to her. She buried her face in the crook of his neck. "No, Nick. No. I was there. I wasn't going to let him take you away from us."

She was suddenly back earlier in the day with all the terror and fury singing through her blood. Rusty's crumbled body caught in a flashlight's beam. A familiar sturdy figure pinned to the ground under a gun's aim. Her heartbeat thundering in her head, ticking off the seconds it took a bullet to leave the chamber and travel toward that man. Her grip tightened on Nick.

His body shook with tears and laughter. "I know how to pick 'em. You were there, Sharon Raydor. No one was going to kill me with you there." His arms slipped around her middle, bringing them closer together.

Tilting her head, she found his mouth. She took that first breath, drawing him into her as if they were both gasping for life again.


	15. Chapter 15

The chill of night air made Sharon shiver as her blouse and bra fell away. Nick's hands spanned her back, holding her close enough to rise and fall with his deep breathing.

She shook harder, not from the cold, but fear. She could finally release all the pent-up terror from earlier in the day. Every time her eyes drifted shut, she saw Rusty's pale, unconscious face or Nick's body covered with blood and brain tissue. She couldn't hold him tight enough, close enough, to feel that he was truly safe and sound.

He cooed senseless words. It only urged her on. Desperate, as though she were racing that bullet from her weapon, she yanked at the rest of his clothes, hers-

He rolled them over and his weight settled on her. She gave a deep sigh of relief. He was alive, his skin warm beneath her trembling hands, his pulse thundering under her lips at his throat, his breath warm on her ear.

"It's all right," he reassured her pointlessly.

Her only reply was a discontent grunt as she shifted her legs against his. For a brief flash, she couldn't remember when she'd last shaved her legs, and a nervous giggle escaped. He laughed along, surely not knowing why. The achingly familiar chuckle made tears rush to her eyes. No, she didn't need to worry about her body with Nick. She sank deeper into the mattress, bringing him down with her. This was enough; his presence, his scent, the maleness of the different hard and soft surfaces-until she wanted more.

Taking his hand, she eased their bodies apart just enough to give him entry to the darkness and heat between her thighs.

"Oh God...Yes," he rasped in her ear and the urgency and desperation there surprised her. She met his gaze and saw her fear reflected in their dark depths. She was glad-she couldn't be alone right now.

When his touch left her, she whined, but he was bringing his fingers to his mouth. Watching him suckle them turned her protest to a moan. Sometimes knowing exactly what was coming next was more erotic than any unexpected moves a new lover could do.

His mouth found one of her nipples as his thick fingers slid inside her.

"I can't-" she protested, squirming but not pushing him away.

He loomed over her. "Yes, you can." He latched onto her breast again, more insistent this time, causing her to arch off the mattress, into his mouth and the pressure of his hand.

Her groan was deep and satisfied. "Yes," she agreed.

Yes, this was why to be with this man. She could be frantic as she was now, pressing back against his surging fingers and thumb. Clutching at his strong shoulders, adding to his collection of scratches. Wrapping her leg around his thigh to open wider for his ministrations. All the time, urging him on with her needy gasps in his ear. He didn't see her as weak; he knew their game. She could give over her strength and power for a few minutes in the dark and Nick never would assume he could treat her this way in the light of day.

Tossing her head back, she exposed her bared neck for his next attack. When he bit down hard, she grabbed handfuls of his hair and wrenched, her cries of release drowning out his grunts of pain. She collapsed back in the pillows, her laughter edged with tears of relief.

"Sorry," she mumbled, kissing his temple ineffectually.

Flopping down beside her, he gave one more grunt of pain before bringing his fingers to his mouth again, this time cleaning the stickiness from them. "I's okay," he rasped.

She watched him, her vision darkening at the sight of his fingers disappearing under his mustache, sliding back and forth between his lips. She damned how long it took the sensitivity to dissipate for her. She wanted him, now.

Her hand slid down his heaving chest and across his hip before circling in on its target. As she cradled his length, tightening her grip until he hissed, she asked, "Did you bring those condoms in here or are they still in the bathroom?"

He pushed back his hair with a shaking hand, trying to keep from jerking into her hand. "Uh...uh," he gasped, focusing. "How arrogant do you think I am?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"Bathroom. I wasn't gonna push my luck."

Lolling back in the pillows, she shoved his shoulder playfully. "Better go get them."

"Yeah, yeah-" He was staring at her swollen, reddened breasts with that silly expression she appreciated. Inside her crusty old man beat the heart of a sixteen year old boy. He started to reach for them again.

Nick," she said sharply, getting his attention.

"I'm going, I'm going," he promised, rolling off the bed. Somehow, his pants and boxers were still around his ankles, forgotten by both of them. He stumbled and reeled.

Sharon slapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing outright. As he kicked out the garments and clutched his sore head, she felt bad for him...Almost.

He staggered from the bedroom without a backward look. She took the time to arrange the pillows in a mound at the headboard.

Returning with a triumphant grin, Nick tossed down a handful of condoms on the bedside table.

"Maybe you are just a bit arrogant," she drawled, patting the spot before the pillows.

He only smiled wider, leaning in to give her a deep kiss which nearly distracted Sharon from her objective. She guided him to sit against the headboard, stroking his bare skin lightly and following her fingers with her lips.

Just as he knew what she needed, she knew what he wanted; tenderness. In the past, it had often been hard to give, her resentments and frustrations insurmountable. Not tonight. Not with his body still marked by a killer.

Straddling his thighs, she kept smoothing her hands across his wide shoulders and down his ribs until he gave that husky giggle that always made her smile.

"Ticklish?" she asked.

His only reply was to bury his hands in her hair, cradling the suddenly heavy weight of her head, and traced her jaw with his lips' tender touch. As he wanted to be treated with tenderness, he loved to be gentle. It could be hard for her to accept-

She reached between their bodies, taking her caresses to the only part of his body still tough and hard after her ministrations.

"Dammit, Sharon, I gotta-"

"Yeah, me too-"

Fumbling blindly, she managed to grab one of the condom wrappers and tear it open. She distracted him with open-mouthed kisses as she fitted it onto his straining length.

His palms spanned her thighs and he caught her gaze. "You're not too tired?" he said earnestly. "I understand-"

In a flash, she was reminded of one of those resentments. Why the hell couldn't he just be an asshole in bed sometimes? It would make leaving him so much easier-

She had to remember this was his need. He wanted to hear it- "Yes, Nick. I feel fine," she ground out, putting no gratitude in her voice.

Still, he smiled happily. "Okay, just checking."

Give the man what he wants, Sharon reminded herself as she rose and slid down onto him. And in this particular man's case, it wasn't just a pussy. Damn him, she thought through the delighted haze which settled over her as she stretched around his length. It would be easier to give him just that and nothing more. He always wanted more-

His lips touched between her breasts over her heart. "Feels so damn good," he husked.

"Yes, it does," she said breathlessly, washed back into her body on the wave of pounding blood and singing nerve-endings.

This is just what he wanted, a slow ride, carrying them up a hill. It was hard for her to accept his gentle touch everywhere within his reach, to hear the depths of his love and admiration. Every time she met his gaze, he slid deeper within her. Every breath she took, she drew him in farther.

Powerless, suddenly weak, she fell against him, her head nestling in the crook of his neck as their bodies rocked together. "Oh Nick."

"I know," he whispered. "I know."

She'd always assumed their relationship would end with a whimper, not a bang, but that wasn't the case this night. Dimly, she was grateful that Rusty wasn't home after all, as her high cries mingled with Nick's deep bass.

"Are you all right?" she asked with genuine concern when she finally managed to get the hair out of her eyes and straighten the tangled sheets around her body.

Nick, still slumped against the pillows, seemed to think about it a moment before deciding, "Uh...Yeah."

"You probably need another painkiller."

He reached for her and pulled her to him, tugging the comforter over them. "No, I'd rather feel this way. Thanks," he mumbled in her hair even as he fell instantly to sleep.

Her final laugh echoed in the darkness.

The next morning, Sharon was surprised that she managed to wake on her own. She shook Nick awake to check on his concussion, ignoring his grumbles.

"I better get the hospital and see if I can check Rusty out," she announced as she gathered clean clothes from the closet.

"Wha' time is it?" Nick mumbled, burrowing back into the pillows.

"Six."

He groaned.

"And I need to get into the office and see where we're at with all these cases," she added with a sigh.

"Office," he said, adding his own regret. "I have to go in too."

She paused in the bathroom doorway. "Your case goes to trial on Monday, right?"

"Yep, last preps. Gotta practice my opening argument." Nick combed back his hair, accepting that he had to rise.

"No rest for the wicked," she suggested before closing the door.

They met again at the front door.

"Ready to face the world," Nick observed, noting Sharon's staid business suit and heels.

"See if I'll get fired over this thing with Rusty and the shooting," she said darkly, checking her phone again. A lot of messages from her squad, but all of them assuring her they had everything under control. One from Taylor, demanding a morning meeting. She replied to expect her in the building by ten.

"It's not going to happen," he said confidently. "You're gonna get a medal as a matter of fact."

She started to contradict him, then just shook her head. "I better go."

Nick was still sorting through his briefcase. He looked up and stepped forward to press a careful kiss beside her mouth so not to smear her lipstick. "Goodbye," he said affectionately.

She paused for a moment, her hand on the doorknob, before kissing him on the mouth in a lingering caress. She'd repair her makeup later. "Bye," she murmured before slipping out the door.

~*~

Sharon knocked lightly on Rusty's hospital room door and entered at his call. He was dressed and sitting in a chair by the window.

"Ready to go?" she asked, humor in her voice.

"Yes!" He jumped up, but winced in pain.

"I want to talk to your doctor first," she said, concerned.

"Sharon, I'm fine-" The cell phone in his hand chirped. Sharon had given him her spare phone the previous night in case he needed anything. But when she'd checked hers in middle of the night, the screen was dark and silent.

"Any word from him?" Nick had asked sleepily.

"No." She had put the phone aside and reached for the final condom wrapper.

Rusty was reading the text, his brow furrowed.

"Who is it?" Sharon asked, hearing her fear. She forced herself to calm down.

"Poppy," said Rusty. "I texted her last night to let her know I was okay, but she's freaking out. The Fetters are calling her parents, yelling at them-" His face twisted in anger and distress.

"Let's get down to the station," she said. "I'll find out where they're at with charging Adam and get a restraining order on his parents if necessary."

Despite the early hour, the murder room was bustling with detectives. But they all stopped at the sight of Rusty.

Andy was the first to come forward and grasp Rusty on the shoulder. "Hey, kid!"

"Hello, Lieutenant," said Rusty, shyly smiling.

Provenza was next. "Good to see you up and about already," he said gruffly.

"How's the cut?" asked Sanchez, peering over the older detective's shoulder.

'It's fine," insisted Rusty. "They gave me some pills to take."

"Best part of getting shot," said Provenza, earning a frown from Flynn.

He shrugged and moved aside so Tao could shake Rusty's hand.

Rusty spoke up. "I want to thank all of you-"

"Just doin' our jobs," protested Provenza.

"I know. But I bet people don't thank you enough," said Rusty. "I never lost faith that you were coming for me-" His voice caught.

Andy cleared his throat and looked across the room, but he squeezed the boy's shoulder again.

Sharon gave her squad a shaky smile. "Yes, my thanks as well. Without your support, considering the other case-"

Sykes had been hovering close. "Speaking of which," she murmured.

"Yes, of course." Sharon straightened. "Rusty, would you mind giving your full statement to Detective Sanchez while I get caught up here?" She stopped. "Or would you like me there?"

"No, I'm good," Rusty assured her. "Go back to work."

Giving him a grateful nod, she turned her attention to her senior detectives.

Provenza spoke first. "We have Mrs. Slovens in Interview One. The hospital released her this morning too. I took her statement and for what it's worth, I doubt we'll be able to press charges beyond assault on an officer-"

"Which she'll get off from," growled Flynn. "Claim she didn't know we were cops, scared old lady-"

Provenza nodded.

"Did she say anything about her son?" asked Sharon. "Does it look as though there may be more victims?"

"I'm working on his computer now, Captain," said Tao. "We didn't find any obvious evidence in the home, but we're still having the cadaver dogs going over the yard today."

"Good," she said crisply. She turned her attention to Adam Fetter and conveyed the situation with his parents' harassment of Poppy's family.

Flynn told her: "Fritz Howard's been working with Tao to gather evidence for charges as soon as possible. Adam's out on bail-"

"What the hell?" she burst out.

He held up his hands. "I know, I know. But Fetter Senior's going to obstruct and drag this thing out as long as possible-"

"I don't want Rusty pulled into the media's eye about this," said Sharon. "It's not his fault!"

"Yes, it wouldn't help our Stroh case if he's in the middle of another one," pointed out Sykes.

Sharon whirled around and glared at the younger woman. Sykes shrank back.

Sympathetic, Provenza stepped between the women. "Time to do a press release of our own. We'll give the Fetters something else to worry about." He tipped his head toward Sykes' desk and she got the hint, hurrying to her computer.

"Uh oh," said Provenza.

Sharon looked over her shoulder to see Chief Taylor enter the murder room. "Damn," she growled. "I'm not ready for this."

"Let me take the lead," Andy murmured out of the corner of his mouth, moving to stand close.

She looked up into his intense gaze. She'd worn a high-collared blouse to cover the mustache burn over her neck and chest. Despite her long shower this morning, she swore she could still smell Nick on her skin.

And then she heard herself say, "Thank you, Lieutenant Flynn," in a breathy voice. Even as guilt welled, she smiled at him.

He smiled back. "Go to the conference room. I'll have Buzz cue up the recording of my Elah Cooper interview."

Raising her chin, she met Taylor mid-room and led him to the conference room.

Flynn waited until everyone was seated. "Forensics got some results to us yesterday evening, so I decided to have a little chat with Cooper about them-"

Taylor interrupted. "Did you speak to Captain Raydor about it first?"

Andy kept his gaze level with Taylor's, not looking at Sharon. "The captain and I been reviewing strategy throughout the investigation. I felt confident that I was in line with her wishes."

Taylor glanced at Sharon. She looked at the black monitor screen. "What did forensics have?" she asked.

"An empty coffee cup in a garbage can across from the coffee drive-thru where Britni worked had Cooper's DNA. Of course, he could claim he bought coffee there at some point, but the coffee place and the body dump site, which he'd admitted to be near in an earlier interview, are over twenty-five miles apart. What are the odds?"

Flynn started the recording of his interview with Cooper. The construction worker was slumped in the claustrophobic room, toying with an empty water cup.

The detective had pointed out these facts to their suspect, while embellishing them. "We have security cameras everywhere in LA, Elah. Your truck is recorded on three different cameras leaving the parking lot shortly after Britni disappeared. LA country is over four thousand square miles. So I'm supposed to believe that you _just happened_ to be drinking coffee from a shack twenty miles from the hotel where you were staying, thirty miles from the work site where you had a job, and then _just happened_ to drive off a remote rural highway to take a piss and throw out your garbage right by the spot where Britni's body was dumped?"

He smoothed down his silk tie. "I find that hard to believe, Elah."

Cooper yawned.

Sharon leaned closer. She could feel this was the moment where an interview turned either for or against the police.

"Okay," Cooper said finally. "Sure."

"Sure what?" Andy said, sounding bored.

"Sure to the girl."

"Care to elaborate on that?" said Andy, making a note on his notepad.

"Nothing much to say. I needed some money. It got me some."

"It was just about stealing?"

"Mostly."

Andy put aside his pencil. "Mostly money, but anything else?"

"It feels good when you kill someone."

Sharon glanced at Andy and saw his eyes were blank. Her gaze shot back to the screen.

Andy had shifted in his chair, remaining nonchalant. "Got a lot of experience?"

"Sure," Cooper said again, raising his one unshackled hand above his head to stretch out the bulging muscles.

Flipping through Cooper's file, Andy said, "Don't see any military time here."

Cooper snorted contemptuously.

"What about those other deaths then?" Andy asked, keeping his tone flat.

Cooper shrugged. The detective waited.

"Just around," the suspect finally said. "I've just left some others around."

"And no one's found them?" asked Flynn.

"That one couple was found. But no one came after me," Cooper said smugly.

"Where'd this happen?"

Cooper rolled his head back and stared at the stained ceiling. "New Hampshire," he finally said.

Andy made the note.

"I don't want to talk any more." Cooper pushed back his chair, his mood suddenly defiant. "I'm sick of all this shit, you know?"

"Sure," Andy said, parroting his suspect. "I understand. Not much of a talker myself."

He rose. "You've given me something to think about anyway. Thank you," he said sincerely.

"Any time," Cooper said, flippant.

"Oh yes, we'll be talking again," the lieutenant had assured him.

The footage ended.

Taylor shook his head with amazement.

Flynn jumped in. "In 2010, an elderly couple in Amherst, New Hampshire were abducted from their home, and later found bound and shot in the head. The connections to Elah Cooper are, their ATM cards were used to empty their accounts after their apparent deaths, and the house where their bodies were found was under renovation. I'm checking with the contractor now, but I'm betting anything that Cooper was on the crew. By the way, his truck was registered in New Hampshire in 2010, before he transferred the registration to its current location of Texas."

"Do you think we've found a serial killer?" asked Taylor.

"I don't want to get too far ahead, sir," said Flynn, "but it looks like it."

"Very good work on the interview, Lieutenant," said Sharon quietly.

He smiled his thanks. "I learned from the best, Captain."

She smiled in return. "I hope to learn a lot from you then."

His smile turned more intimate and she glanced away, her fingers nervously toying with her high collar.

Taylor hadn't noticed their exchange. He was rewinding to the end of the video. "This is big," he said, excitement in his voice.

Sharon disguised her distaste. "Yes, sir. And Rusty's abduction revealed several high profile crimes as well. A busy couple of days for the Major Crimes unit."

Taylor looked up. "Lieutenant Flynn, give us a few minutes."

Andy started to protest but Sharon shook her head quickly to stop him.

Clenching his jaw, Andy rose. "Yes, sir," he ground out. "I'll be right outside," he told Sharon before leaving the conference room.

Taylor leaned back in his chair and smiled at Sharon. "Your staff seems to have rallied around you fairly quickly since you assumed command, Captain. Congratulations."

She straightened in her seat. "It's not me. It's for the victims in these cases."

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit," he said silkily.

She didn't reply.

"You know I haven't been happy with the way you've prioritized these cases, Captain."

"Yes, sir."

"But I'm going to give you a pass this time," he said.

"Thank you, sir."

"This time," Taylor said, his tone now harsh. "But there's no three strikes. One more such insubordination and you're out."

Sharon stood, making sure to keep her movement smooth and unhurried. "Understood, Chief."

"Good," he said.

"If I may, sir, I need to follow up on a number of leads which have been brought to my attention this morning."

"Of course," Taylor said with a wave of his hand, his attention already back on the monitor image.

~*~

Sharon opened the door and dropped her keys on the table. "Long day," she said, glancing around.

Rusty followed. "I'm glad to be home," he said and the crack in his voice made her turn back and slip an arm around his shoulders.

Pressing her lips to his temple, she said, "Me too."

"I guess Nick is out?" Rusty headed toward his room. "I'll grab a shower before he can hog on the hot water."

Sharon stood in the middle of the living room and looked around. Not that anything was specifically missing, but she sensed an emptiness. She headed to her bedroom.

The closet revealed she was right. All his things were gone.

An envelope was on her bedside table. Too thick for the conventional goodbye note. She slipped the papers out.

_Divorce Petition: Raydor vs Raydor_

She started to read through the sheath of paperwork.

Rusty called from the doorway. "Sharon?"

She realized he's been speaking to her.

Looking up, she pasted on a smile. "I'm sorry. What is it?"

"I thought I'd start dinner. Do you think Nick will be home for it?"

Stuffing the forms back in the envelope, she shook her head. "No, Rusty, he's gone." She moved to join the boy by the door. "It's just the two of us now."

She expected Rusty to be triumphant.

His arms came around her waist and he hugged her fiercely, his face buried in her hair.

"Thank you," she choked out, returning his embrace.


	16. Chapter 16

_This is the last chapter. Thank you so much for your support and encouragement writing for a new show. _

The therapist's waiting room was done in soothing pastel tones but Sharon's foot was nervously tapping on the plush carpet as they waited. Rusty kept checking his phone, the fingers of his free hand dancing on his thigh as though he was playing a tune.

Detective Alt had recommended Eleanor Gale for Rusty to see.

"She's worked with a number of kids I've gotten off the street. They all end up loving her, but don't worry, she's tough."

"I don't know if I think he needs someone tough," Sharon had said doubtfully. "Everything he's been through-"

Sierra pinned Sharon with her level gaze. "I've talked with hundreds of sex workers, Captain. Most kids, when stuck in bad foster care, don't decide to become one. They live through it, age out of the system, and get a job at McDonald's. No, it's something else. There's an emotional connection for him with this choice."

"Rusty's never said anything like that," Sharon had protested.

Sierra had pounced. "That's why he needs to see a therapist."

Rusty had been having sessions with Dr. Gale for three weeks, twice a week. He'd come home from his last appointment saying the doctor wanted to see Sharon for the next one.

He didn't tell Sharon why, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to know before she had to.

The inner office door opened and she jumped.

Eleanor Gale peered around the door. "Rusty and Ms. Raydor, why don't you come in?"

Sharon followed the young man into the sunny office.

"Have a seat," the doctor said, waving at the couch. Rusty quickly chose an armchair, leaving the couch for Sharon. She decided to at least sit on the end beside him.

That placed her face to face with the therapist.

Dr. Gale was a small, round African-American woman, with large, intelligent eyes. Her voluminous gown was in bright colors, and she tucked her small feet under the long skirt.

"Sharon Raydor?" she said, opening her notebook.

"Yes, that's me," Sharon said with a stiff smile.

The doctor raised her eyebrows and snapped open her pen. Sharon was reminded of one of her squad's interrogations beginning.

"Rusty's been living in your home for several months-"

"Yes, since August," said Sharon. Rusty remained silent and slid down in the chair.

"Rusty says you have two children-"

"A son and daughter." Sharon's hands clutched in her lap.

"And your husband-"

"He's gone." Sharon's voice sounded a bit loud to her ears. "He was living with us for just a few weeks while he prepared for a trial. He was hardly ever around Rusty."

Eleanor looked to the silent young man. "Rusty told me that he works for Nick at his law firm...His name's Nick?"

Rusty finally spoke. "Yeah, I go there once a week and pack stuff up for him." He shuffled his feet. "I owe him money."

"Nick doesn't care about the money-" Sharon insisted.

"I do," mumbled Rusty.

Eleanor smiled at Sharon. "And Nick comes by to play basketball with Rusty-"

"Yes," Sharon said with gritted teeth. Nick still did that. When she received the divorce paperwork, she had assumed that she wouldn't hear from him again, but just a few days after he had moved out, he brought Rusty home from his after school job.

Sharon stayed on the couch where she'd been doing paperwork, keeping her back to Nick while Rusty headed to his bedroom to change for basketball.

"Hello, Sharon," Nick finally prompted her.

"Oh, hello," she said without looking up from her work.

"How are you doing?"

"How should I be doing?"

Nick glanced to Rusty's door. "Is something wrong? I thought I gave you what you wanted-"

Several sharp retorts leapt to her mind and she repressed them.

Slowly pulling off her glasses, she finally turned to look at him. "I would have expected a mature person to discuss the situation before just disappearing, leaving nothing but a pile of legalese."

The corners of his mustache lifted in a quick smile before he put on a more serious expression. "Discussion, Sharon? What the hell have we been doing for the past twenty-five years but that? I thought we were all talked out."

She bit down on another fiery comeback.

"Besides," he said slyly, "if I'd stayed to talk to you face to face, I just would have ended up crying."

Damn him...She'd giggled. "You would have," she conceded.

Nick stepped closer to couch. "I can see that you want to start a new life, finally. I guess it's time for me to do the same. I couldn't be a distraction while Rusty needs you. How's he doing?"

She had squinted at him, suspicious.

But the conversation was over. Rusty came out of his bedroom, on the phone with Poppy. "No, you hang up first..."

Sharon had rolled her eyes and returned to her work.

She told the therapist, "Nick needs the exercise. Rusty chases him around for a while."

The dark, knowing eyes smiled back at her. "You're getting a divorce."

"I thought we were here to talk about Rusty, not me," Sharon burst out.

Rusty glanced over, alarmed. Eleanor rearranged her skirt. Sharon gave another strained smile.

"Yes, we are," said the doctor. "Rusty has some things which he'd like to tell you in the safe environment of a session."

Sharon's vision went black. Nick was right. She wasn't ready for a _discussion_.

"Rusty?" prompted Eleanor.

The boy sat up straight and quickly licked his lips. "Sharon-"

"Yes, Rusty?" she said, panicked.

"I...I want your help with some legal stuff."

Well, that was rather anti-climatic, she thought. "All right," she said.

"I want to become an emancipated minor," he said in a rush.

Sharon blinked, trying to decide what that meant.

"I can't risk...If my mother shows up, having her messing around, trying to get me back."

"That's true," she said with a nod, still wrapping her mind around what he was saying.

"I want to concentrate on school, these damn trials I have coming up. I don't have time for her drama and some long fight with CFS to keep her the hell away from me," he burst out, getting red in the face.

Concerned, Sharon reached for his twitching hand on the arm of the chair.

He took some deep breaths before starting again: "You have shown me, Sharon, what a real mother is. How she supports and protects her kid. And my mother...My Sharon, was never that. Never," he sobbed, tears welling in his eyes.

He could barely get out his last words: "My mom is part of my old life that I need to get away from."

Sharon clutched his hand, squeezing it tightly. ."I'll do whatever I can to help, Rusty," she managed to say.

For years now, Sharon had felt closed down, going through the motions, grateful that life was 'fine'. Having Nick around had reminded her of a time when she'd taken a risk. But that relationship hadn't worked out and all she'd taken away was to not be vulnerable again.

"There's another option," she said slowly.

Rusty wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, looking desperate and fearful.

"I could adopt you."

There, she'd said it to Rusty. That was the first step. "You would have a home, always. The benefits of being my child...You know, like health insurance." She was babbling. She pressed her lips together.

Eleanor smiled but remained silent.

"Health insurance?" Rusty looked puzzled. Then he dropped his gaze. "You've already got kids-"

She wasn't sure if he was finding excuses to reject her offer, but she pressed on. "My two children are long since out of the house. I always expected-wanted to have a large family."

She placed her free hand over her heart. "I know you don't necessarily agree with my beliefs, but I think God brought us together for a reason."

He looked astonished, then unsure. "Me? An answer to prayers?"

"The Lord moves in mysterious ways," said the doctor with no irony.

"So I'd be doing you a favor?" said Rusty, pushing his long bangs from his eyes.

Sharon held his hand even tighter. "Yes, very much."

"I'd like that." He dropped his gaze again, to stare at their joined hands. "I'd like to give you something back. I'd like...To be your boy."

Sharon couldn't speak so she only nodded.

"I think we've made excellent progress today," said Dr. Gail with satisfaction.

~*~

Rusty nervously arranged the pillows on the couch. Claire watched him from the kitchen as she helped prepare the Thanksgiving turkey. She leaned over to murmur something to her mother._Their_ mother soon, he had to remind himself.

He wasn't sure if he was going to like his new sister. She had her mother's cool reserve combined with her father's watchful gaze. A bit shorter than Sharon, she was slender with a dancer's body like those in the pictures on the wall. Her dark russet hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck. She wore little makeup, low heeled shoes, and a simple wool skirt and cardigan set. In a way, she appeared older than her mother. Perhaps it was those tired eyes...

When the doorbell rang, Rusty darted across the room. "I'll get that!"

He opened the door to admit Nick with two other men. One was obviously Brice. He had his mother's pale green eyes, but his father's olive skin and dark curls, along with the easy grin. "You've gotta be Rusty," he said, grasping the boy's hand to shake.

"Hi," Rusty said, suddenly shy. He was still sorting out all his feelings with Dr. Gale, where his desires and motives lay, but in a sudden rush, all he knew was this man was smoking hot. And then felt instantly gross and unsure. Did that count as incestuous? Although it was the holiday, he wondered if Dr. Gale would answer his call-

Nick grabbed Rusty by the shoulder and gave him a shake. "How ya doin', kid?"

"Okay, thanks," Rusty said with a weak smile.

Sharon came around the corner from the kitchen, wiping her hands dry on a dish towel. "Darling!" she cried out, hugging Brice fiercely.

The young man kissed his mother's cheek. "Darling yourself," he said warmly.

Claire trailed her mother. "Hello, Brice," she said.

Nick and Brice would have nothing of it. First Nick grabbed her in a tight hug, then he handed her off to Brice. Rusty felt a stab of sympathy for her as she disentangled herself from her enthusiastic brother. The compact condo was beginning to feel very crowded with the invasion of these loud, boisterous people.

Brice pulled forward the remaining stranger. "And I'd like you to meet my friend, Hugh."

Hugh was tall and thin, with a deep tan and sun-bleached hair. He greeted everyone with a distinctive Australian accent. Sharon efficiently cut him from the herd and drew him to the living room for her interrogation. Nick looked resigned and Brice alarmed. Rusty fled to the kitchen to check the rolls and stuffing. Claire followed him.

"You enjoy cooking?" she asked him.

"It's something I can do to help out," he said as he vigorously stirred the stuffing.

"You don't need to worry about making yourself useful, you know," Claire said, but then her father came in and drew her into a hug.

"How's my sweetie?" he asked. Tears glistened in his eyes. "It's been too long."

Claire sighed. "I'm well, thank you," she said in measured tones.

Sensing tension, but trapped in the small kitchen, Rusty just kept working.

"You and Brice met while making that kangaroo show? How fun," said Sharon, patting Hugh's arm. "Do you work behind the camera or are you one of the consultants?"

"I'm a naturalist," Hugh admitted, appearing a bit worried.

"Family lives in Australia?"

"Brisbane."

"Do you have a home there?"

"Not likely. Been moving around with each new documentary we produce," he said, glancing at Brice, who could only shrug in response.

"Where do you two plan to settle down? Neither of you is getting any younger," Sharon said with a light laugh which didn't travel to her steely gaze.

Indignant, Brice blushed. "Mom," he whined, not sounding much older than Rusty.

Nick snorted. "Sharon, leave those boys alone. Maybe they don't want to give you grandkids," he said, stumbling right into deep waters.

Sharon pleaded ignorance. "I just worry about young people these days. You've got to put down some roots and get some equity going in a home."

"You mean like Dad?" Claire said with a biting edge.

Opening the oven with a clang of the door, Rusty checked the turkey. He appreciated the distraction.

"Don't worry about your old Dad," said Nick, taking no offense. He held his daughter close. "I think the jury will come back with their verdict after the holiday weekend and we'll finally get paid." He nodded at Sharon.

Claire stepped out of his embrace. "You do always find a way to pull your bacon from the fire."

"How's that turkey doing, son?" Nick asked Rusty, ending the conversation.

Sharon rose from the couch. "I'd better set the table."

After they dined, Brice and Hugh found a game on the TV and asked Rusty to join them. He perched on the couch arm, jiggling his leg nervously as Brice explained the intricacies of American football to his boyfriend.

Claire moved out onto the balcony to watch the warm November dusk rise over the hills. Her mother and father joined her.

"How are things at work, really?" asked Sharon. "You only gave two word answers when I asked you earlier."

"So it's my turn?" said the young woman. "You've run out of questions for Brice?"

"Hey now," rumbled Nick.

Sharon put her hand on his arm to silence him. "Of course not, dear. As I a matter of fact, I know you don't like us probing into your life and I was respecting that. But you seem-"

"Okay," Claire said abruptly. "You're right. Work isn't going well. I've been at Laitner and Milken for five years and it's nothing but a dead end."

"I tol' you," Nick said, butting in. "How challenging is corporate property management? A bright girl like you-"

Claire took a deep breath. "Yes, Dad, I remember. So I've applied to law school. I'm going to start next semester."

"Law school?" said Sharon, "oh honey, do you think that's wise? The market is glutted with law school grads-"

"Take it from a lawyer," said Nick.

Claire held up her hand. "Oh yes, I'm sorry. I forgot. I'm supposed to be the one who gives you no trouble."

"That's not it at all," protested her mother.

Unheeded, Claire waved her hand at the men inside. "Brice gets to be conflicted and need support and now..." She smirked unkindly. "Now that Brice seems to have straightened things out, you've found another boy who needs your endless attention."

"That's not fair at all," said Sharon, choking on tears.

"Excuse me," said Claire. "I'll go clean up." She brushed past her parents and passed through the sliding glass door, closing it behind her.

Sharon started to follow, but Nick held her back. "Let her cool down," he advised.

Sharon watched her daughter scrape dishes and place them in the dishwasher, her movements jerky and angry. Rusty rose from the couch to help.

"I think she might be..." Sharon said, worry in her tone.

Nick dropped his voice. "A Republican?"

She collapsed in giggles against him. "Nick!"

He held her away from him, shock on his face. "My God...Not you too?"

"Shut up. You know we never told each other how we voted."

"Oh baby, not Schwarzenegger!"

She sobered, tears close. "Seriously, Nick, what is this thing we call parenthood? I finally feel like we're doing better with Brice, things are going pretty well with Rusty...Only to find out I failed Claire?"

"You were always telling me that parenting was the most thankless job on earth and I should stop trying to make it fun," he said with a grin.

She gave his sturdy chest a slight slap. Her hand lingered. "I've missed you," she said, the surprise obvious in her voice.

"I'll always miss you," he said warmly, but a distance was in his affectionate gaze. She was that treasured favorite book, placed back on the shelf.

"I'm sure we've won this case," he told her. "And there should be another couple hundred thousand in your payment." He explains that he's gotten an offer to buy his law firm from Lola Morales, his associate.

"She'll do very well with it. She looked very _ambitious_," Sharon said waspishly.

He grinned. "Yeah, I think she'll keep up the good name."

"Sure you won't be keeping a Raydor in it?"

"Nope, my Raydor's not going anywhere near her."

She elbowed him and he gave off a dramatic 'oomph' sound.

"So you'll be gone-back to New York City?"

"You'll have your check first, even before I deposit a dime in my account," he promised her.

"I'm not worried about the money," she insisted.

"Well, I am. It's been too long coming."

"Thanks," she said simply.

"How're things at work?" he asked.

"Going well."

"I see the Cooper case has blown up."

"Yes, he's confessed to another four killings," she agreed. "We think there's more to come."

"Lots of press coverage."

"I'd rather he not kill all those people to get Major Crimes in the news."

"I'm sure that Flynn fellow is _helping_ you a great deal," he said, matching her earlier snarky tone.

She raised her chin. "Yes, he has been giving me a lot of assistance. I'm still awfully new at this."

"You're gonna be great," he assured her.

"Are you going to be all right without the firm?" she asked. "No bullshit. I mean, health insurance, for goodness sakes. If we stay married, you'll be under my policy."

He just grinned at her. "I'll be okay. Always survived, remember?"

"Life is more than survival," she reminded him. "I want to think we're going to be starting new,_better_ lives with this divorce."

"Fresh starts," he promised, tears in his throat. "You'll be Sharon Dornan and I'll be Nicky Ray Raydor, looking for the next deal."

He pulled her into his arms and after a moment of hesitation, she relaxed into his embrace. "Next time we meet, " he said, "We'll be strangers again, seeing each other for the first time from across a room."

"I'll keep the Raydor," she said definitely, "Like a battle scar."

He just laughed.

Inside the condo, the younger people furtively watched Nick and Sharon through the closed glass doors.

Rusty spoke. "I can't figure them out."

"Don't look at me for an explanation," said Brice.

Hugh looked as though he wanted to say something but then thought better of it.

Claire accepted the plate to dry from Rusty but kept her gaze on her parents. "Get used to it, Rusty. You'll spend years watching them and feel a barrier just like that glass door."

He started to protest. Shaking his head, he returned to scrubbing the pot which had held the mashed potatoes. "Doesn't matter. He'll be leaving LA soon," he said.

~*~

With the holidays over and charges finally filed on Adam Fetter by the FBI, Sharon walked into the murder room with a spring in her step. The squad greeted her as she moved through the room.

Her phone chirped, signalling a tweet. She'd only set it for one feed. Glancing at the screen, she saw just what she wanted.

"Buzz," she called to the young man, "please get KCBS up on the TV. They should be doing a live broadcast."

Buzz obliged, despite his confusion. The detectives gathered around the screen, equally curious.

A young reporter, a thick layer of makeup covering her natural blonde beauty, stood outside the Los Angeles Superior Court building. "This is Courtney Westphal with the verdict in the Hancock Enterprises vs Wayne trial. The jury found computer giant _guilty_ of negligence in its safety practices, and have awarded the plaintiff, Ted Wayne, ten million dollars."

Sharon made a dignified fist pump. Astonished, the detectives stared. "Baby's gonna have a new pair of shoes," she crowed.

Sheepish, she modulated her tone. "I'm very glad the plaintiff persevered."

"And here's Nick Raydor now, the lead attorney in the case," said Courtney.

Sharon glanced back to the TV.

Nick made a practiced swipe of his hand over his hair and straightened his silk tie before joining the reporter and giving her a smile. "Hello, Courtney," Nick said. "Today is a great day for justice and the American worker."

Andy rolled his eyes and folded his arms. He sidled closer to Sharon. "Does this mean he's leaving LA?" he asked bluntly.

She looked up at him. "I would think so. The reason he came to town is over."

Andy raised his eyebrows.

She gave a definite nod. "I'm glad that he won, for both of us. Now it's time for us to move on. He's been a distraction for too long." Her smile warmed. "I look forward to whatever is coming for me with Rusty, and-" She let her words die away, suddenly terribly interested in the tips of her current pair of shoes.

"And?" probed Andy.

"And whatever else comes along." Her eyes shone bright, as though she were looking into the future.

Then she glanced at the clock, her expression business-like again. "I better get to work though."

Andy watched her walk to her office, allowing his gaze to linger on her retreating backside and legs.

The other detectives had taken the hint from their captain and wandered back to their desks. All but Provenza. He held the remote and had paused the report on the DVR.

"Hey, bud," he said, jerking his head to draw his friend back to the TV.

Flynn smirked at Nick's frozen face. "Nothin' that guy has to say interests me."

Provenza hit play without a word.

Courtney asked breathlessly, "What do you have to say to reports that the mayor is appointing you to Judge Simpson's seat on the LA Superior Court with his sudden resignation?"

Nick's smile widened to a grin under his thick mustache. "I'll only say that I am committed to helping the citizens of LA county in any way. With the closure of my practice, I welcome new challenges."

Andy lolled his head back. "I can't fuckin' believe it."

Provenza clasped his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I warned you. Nicky Ray _always_ has a card up his sleeve; that lucky queen of diamonds."

Andy looks at Sharon's closed office door. "I'll ante up."

~ End: The Hiatus


End file.
